Fallout: Supernatural
by Touta Matsuda
Summary: Set in the post-apocalypse Capital Wasteland, as the former mayor of Little Lamplight Dean has to find his place in world -he just never imagined it would be with an angry blue-eyed raider. Destiel, possible Sabriel
1. Chapter 1

Little Lamplight is a town made up entirely of children, and mungos are not allowed to reside there. A mungo is an adult, and they are untrustworthy and in many ways unethical. At the age of 18 little lamplighters are asked to leave the town, or they are forcefully expelled. Once sent out into the wastes, these on-the-verge-of-mungo-hood individuals set out in search of a new home. Many of them head to Big Town, inhabited almost entirely of former little lamplighters. Others search out adventure, though few find it. Those who don't end up in Big Town often meet grim fates –death to the elements or at the hand of raiders, capture by slavers, or killed by the mutated inhabitants of the wastes.

Dean Winchester is a young man just days away from his 18th birthday. While in another time this would be a hallmark age of celebration, in Little Lamplight it's a day Dean hopes goes unnoticed by all. The others here have been his friends and his peers for years. For as long as he could remember they had been like family to him, second to his own blood.

Dean had one true family, and that was his little brother Sam. He was always there for Sam first, and while that would have bothered the other residents of little lamplight, Dean had always made _damn_ sure he had the spare resources to care for them as well. After all, Dean was the mayor of this little town. They may only be children, but they learned quick. Dean had a faux-military setup in action here, complete with medics, a scouting team, and supply scavengers. On the inside, the town ran just as smoothly. Sam was smart, smarter than the others gathered here. Despite his young age Sam took on the role of teacher in Little Lamplight, passing on his knowledge to the others, both young and old (by Little Lamplight standards, anyway). His predecessors before him had written down their wealth of knowledge in empty books found in the wastes. Generations of little lamplighters added to information and the scavengers found books from the era before the fallout.

The medical clinic was headed up by Jo, as Dean had decided many moons ago that fixing up the soldiers was a woman's job. While she had protested furiously, Dean refused to see her out in the field, even as a scavenger. She was good at what she did, if not a little rough. Similar to Sam's role, Jo had learned all there was to know about stitching up wounds and treating illnesses from the previous head nurse.

Dean was the town's protector. He was armed with a heavy duty assault rifle and a nearly endless supply of bullets. The scavengers did a fantastic job of rounding up food and ammunition. Dean kept the baddies out, and the rest of the town basically took care of itself. There were treehouselike structures in the deep caverns for the children to live in, and the children naturally protected one another. They were always willing to help, like a big family.

The older they got, the more they questioned. Bella was 16, and Dean could swear he saw bloodlust in her eyes. His time was coming –he knew it better than anyone. This town, this life; it couldn't last, nothing good ever did. It was up to Dean to pick the next mayor of little lamplight, the next person to lead and govern, protect and shelter. Dean wanted to leave it up to Sam, and he was pretty sure he could –only then Sam would be stuck finding a replacement teacher. It was all in the books anyway, and three sunrises from that night, it wouldn't be Dean's problem anymore.

"Hey Sammy," Dean leaned in the makeshift doorway of the school room, a small hollow in the cave, like any other room. The distinguishing features were the books –legible and ruined alike, a couple of broken chairs and a busted up blackboard. "Do any of these books tell you about Big Town? D'you know what it's like? Where it is?" Dean was trying hard to keep his tone casual, keep his posture loose and sound disinterested, like it couldn't matter less if Sam actually had the answers.

Sam looked up, shaggy brown hair just barely out of his eyes, a sharp hazel staring at his older brother. He knew what day was coming, he knew exactly why Dean was asking him. As much as he didn't like mungos he couldn't bear to lose his big brother. He wished more than anything that they could over-look it. But then, no one was ever over-looked. "Well it's east of here, the books say that it's nice, that adults really like it there." He sat up and scratched his head, "I mean some of these books are kinda pre-war and I don't think Big Town was around then… But we wouldn't send people to Big Town without knowing if it was ok to go or not." Sam offered his best little brother smile, hoping at least that might cheer his brother up.

"Huh," was all that Dean could retort with. Only half of the information would stick, the other half he kinda already knew anyway. "It's not like I'm scared," Dean tried to deny it, whether he was convincing Sam or himself he wasn't sure. Sam was only 14, Dean wasn't even sure if he understood the implications of being 18 years old, of becoming one of them: a mungo, an _adult_. Dean knew what was out there –raiders, slavers; heck, some of the kids were abducted by slavers back when Dean was 8. Everyone had been left terrified for weeks on end, the only reason Balthazar lead anyone back out of the cave was because they were running out of food –and because it was his time to go. And they were only the least of anyone's worries out in the wastes, they were the _people_ in the wastes. Nevermind the radiation, and the monsters –supermutants included; the ghouls.

Sam watched the nervous behavior of his brother and knew better than the lying hopes Dean was spitting out. "Dean…" Sam wasn't sure what to say or where to go with this, he wanted his brother to stay more than he could express. "You'll be okay, I know you will." He went to Dean's side and took his brother's rough hands firmly in his own soft ones. A tear escaped his best efforts, his smile fighting to remain strong though the way it twitched couldn't have been that comforting. "I know you'll survive out there because you're the strongest person I've ever known. You've protected us, fought for us, for me, and you've always won. And in four years…" Sam swallowed the growing lump in his throat, "In four years on my birthday, you'll come back for me." This wasn't a question or a request; it's what Sam expected of his big brother.

Dean had never thought of that, but when Sam proposed the idea, it seemed so natural. No one ever came _back_ to Little Lamplight to guide the new mungos out into the wastes. It was just sort of expected that they would find their own way, a natural migration or something. Dean wasn't even sure if the stories were true –about the kids liking it in Big Town; no one had ever really reported back to state whether it was good or bad. "You bet I will, I'll be right outside that cave waiting for you." Dean smiled again, trying two-fold to make it look convincing, "And I'd be a lot better if you stopped trying to comfort me –makes it seem like you can see right through me or something." It was a half joke, but they both knew there was a fair amount of truth to it.

With that said, Sam leaned up and kissed Dean's lips briefly and followed with touching his two fingers to the tip of Dean's nose, something they'd always done since they were really small. It was a sign they were still together, that they loved each other and that they were family. Both of them made up a small gesture to show it, the combination was exactly what he'd just done. Sam couldn't remember who did what, all he knew was that it meant something to the two of them. "I love you, Dean. Mungo or not, you're always my big brother." He paused, thinking to himself briefly, and nodded. "I'll wait for you outside Little Lamplight for a day and a night, if you don't show up I'll assume the worst and move on to Big Town."

Dean smiled again, this time a softer, serene smile; accepting the loving gesture from Sammy. When they were younger it was so much more natural and comforting; but with Dean's recent changes, his onset of becoming a _mungo_, it seemed different. Like this simple loving gesture that was meant to be so innocent and pure was tainted by something in him, a roiling in his gut and an odd sensation that spread across his skin. Dean stuttered out a sigh, he knew life was going to be different but he'd had no way of knowing it would be _this_ different. "Nothing's going to happen to me," Dean reassured Sam, hugging him tight briefly before backing away a bit, to get some distance between him and his brother, "I promise I'll be there."

Sam smiled and nodded, not for an instant distrusting that statement. He didn't recognize the slow backing away as anything but Dean feeling antsy, a need to move and do something running through him. "I'll see you later," Sam promised, knowing that Dean still had a few days left and he wanted to make the most of them. He just wasn't sure what to do yet, all he knew was that Dean deserved something good before going.

Dean was busy packing, whatever he figured they could afford to give him. The kids needed the medical supplies, and they were in short enough demand as it was –food too. Dean looked at the sparse belongings he had packed; a drawing Sam had given him a while back, two bottles of irradiated water, 100 rounds for his assault rifle. It was sad, but he couldn't think of anything else to bring. Everything was shared belongings in the community and Dean had no more right to take any of it than his predecessors had.

"You look tense."

The voice washed over him like accented-poison. "Bella," Dean turned stiffly to face her. She'd been brought in on one of the expeditions, some nearby town was attacked by raiders and she'd escaped, somehow. Dean had always been suspicious of that, wondered how young someone needed to be to have allegiances, or be trained to kill.

"Don't sound so thrilled to see me," she half pouted as she let herself in, wandering around Dean's quarters, observing the set up like a patron at a hotel –like she'd be staying there soon. Her arrogance sent another cold chill down Dean's spine. "Looks to me like you're all set to go. Rumour has it that mungo's are _different_, that you act different –crazy with hormones or something like that. Feeling it yet Dean?"

Dean hadn't a clue what she was talking about –hormones and stuff, but he did know mungo's were different. More violent, and greedy. "Did you want to test it?" Dean threatened, voice low, "Because if I am going crazy, it might not be in your best interest to piss me off."

"Huh, aren't you still our protector? You're not doing a very good job, threatening your people like that," Bella smiled, a sort of crooked grin that Dean supposed could be considered cute –you know, if you were a slaver or something.

"What are you after, Bella? What are you getting out of this, out of harassing me? I'll be gone in a day or two," Dean didn't take his eyes off her, while she prowled around the room. Seemingly harmless, carrying a disinterested gaze across Dean's old belongings –the mayor's belongings. It was like watching a predator, the way she circled the room, so casually, taking her time.

"How do we know when your birthday is, _really_," Bella said pointedly, "and you and I both know that turning 18 is a purely arbitrary designation. Becoming a mungo takes time, it's not instantaneous, and for all either of us know –for all _any of us_ know, you could already be one."

"But I'm not!" Dean shouted in reply, disgusted at the accusation. Mungo's were different, wrong and hateful and greedy and... and Dean was one, or was as good as. He'd seen the changes, noted that he was taller, his head brushed against doorways where they hadn't before. His shoulders were broader, his limbs longer. And there was hair growing everywhere –arms, legs, face... He already _looked_ different from the rest of them, sounded different than the rest of them.

"They've seen the way you've changed, Dean. They've also seen how you've kept to yourself, how you've brooded your leaving, cut off your ties with them to make it easier for them to lose you," Bella sat down on Dean's makeshift bed –a collection of grass and cotton shoved into an old mutilated mattress. She crossed her legs and wrapped her hands around her knee, rocking back and forth, just slightly. "Well guess what? That'll never make goodbye's any easier for Sam."

"What's your point?"

"You know you ask that a lot? For a leader you sure don't know a whole lot." Bella sighed and stopped moving, her sharp brown eyes meeting Dean's, "I think you should leave now. Unnoticed by the others, so that you're just sort of... gone. They won't know how to deal with your leaving anyway."

Dean was silent for a good long while, staring down at his duffle like it held all the answers, like it would just tell him what to do. He zipped it up finally, after great deliberation. "Goodbye Bella," Dean tossed the bad over his shoulder, adjusting the strap of his rifle over the other. The lights were out and all were asleep, and tomorrow would've been the big day, and Dean figured he'd spend it how he always feared he would: alone.

It had been a full day of travel due East, and Dean was more tired than he'd ever remembered being. With hindsight, he probably would have travelled by night to avoid having the sun beat down on him, draining him of energy and precious fluids. He'd hoped he'd find Big Town soon, that there would be familiar faces there, like Balthazar and some of the other older kids.

Dean spotted a mass of metal on the horizon –that must be it. It fit the description to a 'T', a town made of scrap metal, not too big, just east of Little Lamplight. There weren't too many civilizations out in the wastes as it was, and Dean could only hope he'd found the right one. The only thing that looked out of place was the plumes of smoke. '_Maybe they have a fire going, maybe they're cooking something_,' Dean thought to himself, hopefully. He picked up the pace, filled with a sort of awe and anxiety. He was eager to see old faces, the more he thought about it, the more he figured it wouldn't be that bad. They were all stronger than before, leaders from his past. They probably had a really good system going, like Little Lamplight part 2 or something. Yeah, that sounded better, that sounded _livable_.

Dean slowed his pace as he met with the wall, circling around to find the entrance. He could hear people inside, loud, older men making a ruckus, walking around and kicking things over. They were yelling at each another, and then Dean heard someone scream just before the gunshot rang out, and then there was a few laughs from the men. That wasn't right, Dean could feel it in his bones. These weren't his friends, if anything that last scream had been his friend. Dean peaked his head around the corner of the wall into the camp, finding strange men clad in leather and spikes, armed with pistols, spear, bats, and metal knuckles –and covered in blood.

Raiders.

Dean pulled back around the corner, his heartbeat flying in his chest. He prayed no one saw him, that they would just _leave_. Dean could stay, start over and wait for others from Little Lamplight, tell them what happened and make a new town. The others would come and find nothing, find no hope and no food... Dean had to stop himself, they weren't his responsibility anymore. Not Bella, not Jo, not Sam... none of them were. He was on his own, and now he was going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

**A/N: Right, so apologies go out to Zafona, who I should have credited as the co-author of this story. I got excited and posted it without reviewing. Comments and criticism appreciated.**

Castiel had been living with raiders for a long time, longer than he really cared to admit. When he first started they'd given him a loaded pistol and ordered he shoot the lowlifes that had been 'taking care of him' in Megaton. No one had really taken care of him there; he lived off of scraps and pretended to praise the goddamn bomb in the middle of the town. At least then the 'Sons of Atom' would toss a piece of mutant cow his way. And saying he joined the raiders and _then_ shot his caretakers would be lying, no he became a raider after he did so.

After that it seemed to suit him, he'd been 16 at the time and a little power in his hands felt good after living like an urchin. Sure, he started as a grunt and basically 'towel boy' of the crew but it didn't take him long to slaughter the useless and move on to a different group of raiders, more successful ones. Being 24 years old with a short, scruffy haircut and matching stubble on his face Castiel didn't look like the helpless kid that he used to resemble. Especially not with his Chinese Assault Rifle in hand and 10mm SMG at his side.

When the gunshot rang out and the gurgling screams of the last victim faded, his sharp blue eyes caught something moving. Turning his head to see better, the image of a young man peering at them like a frightened animal disappearing around the corner of the building almost made him laugh. Though strange tuggings in his chest made him reconsider the chuckle. He'd seen fear in people's eyes before, but not like that.

Strong and lithe, Castiel's stride was certain as he approached the boy's hiding spot, as poor as it was. Cas knew he had a cold look in his blue eyes, he knew that the look of his raider get up wouldn't help. All of that aside, Castiel knew he needed to talk to this kid, from what he'd heard around the wastes, Big Town was the place where all the children from Little Lamplight escaped to when they grew up.

"Kid," Cas started and almost immediately regretted the way his voice came across. He was rough around the edges and it definitely came out in the gravelly tone in which he spoke. "You coming from Little Lamplight?"

Dean's erractic heartbeat fell from rapidfire to dead in his chest, and he had to remind himself to breathe, because that was so important when a raider found you on your own. Dean fumbled with his assault rifle, readying it for a fight –possibly his last fight, but his fear had the better of him, his hands slipped where his grip should've been sure, and he dropped the 10mm cartridge to the ground. "Yeah, and if I am? I'm not afraid of you," '_Smooth, Dean, real smooth. Now you _definitely_ sound terrified_.' Dean kept eye contact, trying to give the impression that he wasn't backing down, that he had his eye well-trained on Castiel's movement.

Castiel cocked his head for a moment but didn't make much of a move, he could see the gun and he could see this kid's legs trembling beneath him despite the big words leaving his mouth. _'Feisty but scared out of his wits… completely. Definitely a Little Lamplighter.'_ Cas thought to himself gruffly, most people actually booked it when spotting a group of raiders or did what they could to fight them. Not this one, too old to be a kid and get the same sort of kindness a child would, but too young to be good at anything. Basically the worst of both worlds.

"Yo Cas, what're you doing over there?" one of Castiel's fellows shouted from the bloody corpse on the floor. "You find another one?"

Dean swore he could feel his blood freeze in his veins; even if he hadn't fumbled his gun against this blue-eyed demon, there was a pack more inside the town. All it would take was one word from this raider, and then he and his buddies would be on Dean –hopefully death would be swift, Dean didn't want to know what raiders did for fun with survivors.

Cas lifted a hand to insinuate that the man wait his turn, or at least for a few seconds as he tried to decipher the gesture, "I'm pretty sure you can see that Big Town's a big hoax." He glanced up at slowly darkening sky warily. He didn't want to linger any longer than they already had. It wasn't a big secret that supermutants camped nearby; he didn't want to stick around to see if the rumours of sundown attacks were true. "You're coming with me, kid."

Dean found this stranger both terrifying and mesmerizing at the same time –rightfully, he should've killed Dean on sight, not wave away his companions. A raider with compassion was nearly unheard of –usually because they died fairly early on in their career as a minor side effect. But that compassion and extended hand was laced with a gruff exterior and presented with a voice like liquid gravel; and Dean couldn't help but stare, frozen with fear knowing his life was in this stranger's hand by some strange twist of fate.

Castiel didn't wait for a response and drags him by the arm. "Hey, what're ya doin' that for? We don't need another mouth to feed." Another raider growled.

"We have plenty to keep Jeffrey fat and happy, I'm sure it won't make a difference. He'll stay out of the way, I'll take responsibility for him." Castiel snapped back, though most people would have normal conversations, sometimes a raider just needed to push his superiority over another. As the conversation would have normally been calm, even neutral, Cas was required to take on a sharp edge to his statements to gain any kind of respect from his group. Luckily the others seemed to take his word for it and let it go, they'd finished with this town anyway.

"Wait, what do you want with me?" Dean hissed, trying to pull away from Castiel's grip. The mercy was nice, not for a lack of misunderstanding, but why take dean with? Why not leave him behind? Sure, there's a chance he'd die, or the supermutants would get him, but Dean was pretty sure he'd rather take his chances than sign up for a life with a crew of raiders. "I don't want to go," Dean kept his protests to a whisper, not wishing to attract any more attention from the others –they did seem satisfied with Castiel's answers though, and were packing up their loot from the ransacked houses and mutilated bodies. Some of the corpses were even loaded up onto the cart as decoration –a classic raider warning sign for others to back off.

"I don't want to go," Castiel mimicked in a very unflattering tone, high-pitched and obviously meant to sound like Dean, the other raiders chuckled. "Listen boy," Cas continued on with his usual voice, pulling Dean in close so their faces were a finger's width apart. "As much as I'd love to leave you here with the corpses to be carried off by supermutants, I'd rather not give those beasts anything more than I have to." He looked at Dean's expression carefully, caught between defiance and fear. "You'll do well to remember who's got more leverage here." His words came out in a snarl, not intending to turn away just yet.

Dean's eyes fluttered shut briefly as he shuddered out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. Cas was _so close_, Dean could feel the raider's breath skate across his skin, feel Cas' body right near his own, body heat radiating off of him. It felt good, and warm, and Dean had to fight that small part of him that thought it might be a good idea to just lean up against that warmth –there was no taking comfort in this man, he was afterall, violent and angry. Dean's fleeting thoughts of warmth and pleasure were quickly replaced with those of fear, something he was becoming quite familiar with.

Dean wondered if this raider even knew what he sounded like –and here Dean was of the impression that not _all _the raiders were the same, they had to differ in some aspects, but apparently not in the core aspects. Being a raider meant being a murderer, being territorial, and being greedy. This group of travelling marauders didn't have a thing to do with the supermutants to the north of Big Town, yet they'd still go out of their way –_this guy_ would go out of his way just to ensure that no one else got anything else. It baffled Dean, Little Lamplighters weren't nature loving per se (there wasn't any nature to love) but they took what they needed and nothing more –if you left enough for the roving mutations outside, they tended not to acquire a taste for children.

Too much 'big picture' thinking and not enough immediate response would get Dean killed yet, raiders probably didn't like being ignored. Dean swallowed hard, "You do, you've got more leverage here." When it came right down to it, Dean simply didn't want to die. He'd expected it, somewhere in the back of his mind he hadn't dreamt of really finding a place for himself in Big Town. But he'd never anticipated the raiders, '_Just do as he says, and you won't get hurt_.' It was funny how thoughts that brandished survival were so parallel to thoughts that represent submission.

After a pause, Castiel continued forward, his grip only tightening as he spat back at Dean, "I don't think you came here from Little Lamplight just so you could be killed within moments of your arrival, you have something you wanted to live for so I suggest you do what you can until that goal is accomplished."

Dragged along by Castiel's death grip, Dean couldn't help but focus on that one important thing, his reason to live –_Sam. _This raider guy may have been blowing smoke, trying to coax Dean into cooperating, but that didn't matter because he was _right_. Dean couldn't let himself die here, on his first day out. He had a promise to keep –get back in four years and reunite with his brother. Just the thought of Sam, having left him there with the others, of the possibility of never seeing him again, saddened Dean greatly. There was no point in putting up a fight now, and he followed close to Castiel's side for the trip out.

The raiders high-tailed it out of Big Town relatively quickly, and headed back to their campsite from the night before. Upon arrival Cas dropped his painfully tight grip on Dean's arm and moved to set up his sleeping area, starting with a tent, as dilapidated as it was. After their last camping here he recognized where the softer dirt was and he intended to make use of it. "You got a name, boy?" He called as he strung up one side of his shelter.

Dean kept his arms up and around him, his right hand massaging the bruise left by Castiel on his arm. With nightfall came the cold, and it was coming in fast. Dean knew this from several expeditions to the wastes with other Lamplighters, though they had never intended to be out that late in the first place. The best way to keep warm would be conserve body heat, and the thought of curling up with a murderous raider –murderous _mungo_ raider, sent chills down Dean's spine and an uncomfortable churning in his stomach. Dean shivered slightly, his teeth chattering just below an audible level as he answered the raider's simple question tersely, "My name's Dean."

Dean's mind worked to remind him that –murderous or not, he and Castiel were _both_ mungos. Dean probably wasn't that different from Castiel, and as much as he despised the thought of it, Dean still knew what he was. He eyed Castiel again, his wariness and disgust visible on his face in spades. He knew he should be grateful, but he just couldn't bring himself to express that to this stranger, Dean would much rather be dead. But his fate wasn't up to him, it never was, and Sam would undoubtedly want Dean very much _alive_.

"Dean, huh…" Cas glanced over at his 'captive' and was no stranger to the revolted look the boy was giving him. "I'm sure you got it already, but my name's Castiel." He decided not to address the expression, what was the point really? He'd seen that look so many times before, had given it many times before that. It was a look of distaste and even hatred. But he didn't care, he saved this kid from an ugly fate and that was enough for him.

Dean mulled the name over in his head, he had heard the other raiders call him Cas before, and Dean supposed that was the nickname for _Castiel_. But somehow that name didn't suit this guy –he was so gruff, rough around the edges and downright _mean_. But his name sounded so different from that, it sounded exotic and sort of gentle and, Dean had to admit, somewhat girly. He tried to choke back his laughter at that –a girly raider? Not even girl-raiders were girly.

"Why'd you take me with, I mean really? I'm not useful to you, and honestly, I'll probably try to run away. I thought mungo's were all crazy and mean." '_Though I guess taking me with was kind of crazy_.'

Despite the question, Castiel remained silent until he finished setting up their tent. Finally when he was done he glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow, "Mungo? Seriously kiddo you need to upgrade your vocabulary a bit. We aren't 'mungos' or whatever you call us, we're adults, and more specifically I'm a raider." Cas looked down into the tent and crawled inside, calling out from his protection from the wasteland winds, "And if you wanted to run away I guess you could, though the moment you try one of these other guys is probably gonna shoot you in the head just for fun."

Dean frowned, more than a little pissed off at just how easy it was to keep him put. Cas had vague threats of others putting Dean down, no ropes, no collars, no chains, and Dean knew he was trapped here, at least for the time being. It was cold in the wastes at night, like any desert would be. Dean would not only have to sneak away, but he'd have to do so after stealing supplies from the raiders, and that was assuming all of them slept. '_You know the biggest thing holding you back is fear, right?_ ..._Yeah, 'cuz I don't wanna die._' "Well I don't want to get shot, so I won't go."

"That settles that, then." Cas grumbled as he adjusted himself for comfort, despite the fact that there was nothing comfortable about his sleeping set up. Castiel looked at the empty space beside himself, knowing it was big enough to fit another person in. He considered leaving Dean to ask but decided against it in a brief moment of mercy. "Come inside and bitch at me, my throat's sore from yelling to you."

Dean's eyebrow rose as his curiosity piqued, the mungo was inviting him into the tent? Dean couldn't help his mind drifting back to thoughts of how warm Castiel's body felt near his own, what it did to him to have Castiel's lips hovering so close to his own –even if it was to hiss out threats against him. Dean quickly scuffled over to the tent and pulled himself in next to Cas, lying against Cas' side. "Maybe you've got a point," Dean murmured, getting comfortable in the small space, "it would be nice to think of myself of something other than a mungo, it just feels so... dehumanizing."

Castiel sighed and rolled his eyes, "I get that you're sad and feeling dismal or whatever, but you have to do one of two things at this point; either you could mope and whine that you're grown up now," he paused and turned an annoyed glance on Dean, "Or you could shut up and be a man about it." He was starting to lose patience with this kid, though it was difficult to say he had any whatsoever. They were lying next to one another and Cas got his first good look at the boy. Looking at Dean closer, Cas had to admit to himself that the boy was attractive. They were several years apart in age but all in all he wasn't above doing it with someone much younger. He also didn't have an issue doing it with guys either, most of the time whatever satisfied the craving was good enough.

Dean simply stared at Castiel - for what seemed like hours, '_Shut up and be a man about it_,' the mantra was stuck in his head on repeat. "You know, back at Little Lamplight, we take pride in being children. The fact that we're young has no impact on our survival skills –we have teachers and medics and scouts, and of course at any given time a town mayor. We keep each other safe, warm, fed, and protected. Raiders don't do that –_mungos_ don't do that. Look at your camp, you guys use numbers to overwhelm your enemies, and then you split up, every man for himself when it comes to the cooking, and the tent set up. Why's it so important to adults be individuals like that? Why're you so proud that you're alone?" Dean furrowed his brow at the thought –it just didn't make sense to him, _'be a man about it_.'

Castiel furrowed his brow and before he could catch himself he snapped back at Dean, "Because you're always alone, idiot! There is no one, there is nothing," he poked Dean hard in the chest, "Nothing but you and yourself. Camaraderie is nice and when you have it, it and loyalty, you watch each other's backs. But when you get down to it," Cas hunched up onto his elbow and loomed a little closer, "right down to it, the basics of survival and the basics of being human, we are single organisms, individuals. If you aren't strong as an individual you can't be anything for the team. A man isn't a raider, or a mungo, it's someone who can handle themselves and others. And when I tell you to be a man, I mean quit your fucking bitching and whining and accept what's out of your control. Take it in stride, you little fucking baby." Cas ended it with a short snarl, dropping back onto his shoulder.

Dean pulled back from Castiel, admittedly more than a little frightened at the raider's outburst. It was no wonder that the previous generations of lamplighters didn't trust mungo's –children aren't strong enough to be 'men,' to be useful to the team through being independent on their own. If that sort of mentality was among them, then all of the younger one's would be killed, or starve slowly, or some other horrific fate. It dawned on Dean then that maybe that was pushed on Cas as a child, thinking like them, being treated like them and held to the same standards. That made sense, that would explain why Cas was so angry –that, and he probably did feel alone, and he probably _hated_ it. Dean offered a kind of half-smile, knowing he was far too used to caring for others in his life, as a brother and as a leader. "I'm sorry, Cas. I didn't mean to make you angry, I'll try and be stronger." _And in the mean time, I'll try and make you nicer_. Somewhere along the line –_somehow_- Dean was starting to lose that deep-seeded fear he had of raiders, or at least Castiel. Yes, there was the fear of immediate harm, but not of death, not like the paralyzing fear he'd experienced before. People were people, whether they were children or adults, wastelanders or raiders. And Dean would not be afraid, as a twist of fate and not by choice –he was a man, and apparently, he had standards to live up to.

Castiel sighed heavily, "Listen, I brought you with because honestly I'd like to give you a chance in this world, as stupid and crazy as that sounds. You're clumsy with almost no handle on your growing limbs whatsoever, you know nothing about the wastes like any of the rest of us, and quite frankly you whine too much. Basically useless to them and me. I'm giving you a shot to live, that's it. If you see a chance to run from us, that's your choice, but if I were you I'd stick around long enough to at least learn a thing or two."

"D'you know how weird it is to hear you say that? You come across as this tough, mean raider and now you tell me you want to give me a chance at life? You're one weird guy, Cas," Dean snuggled closer to Cas, chasing the fleeting warmth as the cold of the night really began to creep into his bones. Castiel was just so _warm,_ and he felt so _good_ –not in the same sort of way Dean felt when holding Sam close at night, no, this was a much different kind of good feeling.

Cas scrunched up his nose, he hadn't considered how it sounded, or at least not at length. He shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes, "Take it however you want, I'm just saying it'd just be stupid of you to pass it up." Part of him wanted to give Dean a chance though the rest of him said it wouldn't help any to give the kid a hand out. With that said, Castiel adjusted his position to get comfortable, eyes closed and slowly drifting into sleep. Of course his sleep wouldn't be deep, no one living in the wastes was granted that luxury. Even raiders had to keep their eyes open for the mutated creatures roaming about, despite their own nasty reputation. Adding to that, Cas hardly trusted Dean to not take off with his things. There would be no possible way for Dean to move around excessively without Cas' knowledge of it.

Dean's first night on his own that he wasn't burdened with the safety and protection of his town and his family, and it wasn't even with his predecessors in Big Town. It was in a tent with a kind raider by the name of Castiel, in a camp full of raiders responsible for the slaughter of Dean's former friends. Friends who he himself helped run out of town for being mungo's. The whole situation was just a little too much to think about.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam trots out of his room, rubbing his eyes drowsily. He usually sleeps at the schoolhouse, his place considering he's the teacher. His building is right outside the main entrance of Little Lamplight, the area that Dean always patrolled and therefore Dean was the first person he saw in the mornings. It was still a day or so away, the day he'd lose his big brother. Sam wanted to spend as much time with Dean as he could so he hurried through his morning routine and bolted out the door.

Sam's expectant heart was swiftly crushed when he saw the empty patrol space. Dean never skipped out on his duties, even with something as big as becoming a mungo coming up. Despite the obvious assumption that he should make, Sam's hopes were up as he sprinted through the narrow tunnels and corridors, bursting into each separate structure and leaving with the same increasingly desperate expression.

His heart ached as he finally reached the back of Little Lamplight, the place they had blocked off with a gate to stop people from getting to the vault located further back in the caves. Sam's breathing came in long, pained gasps as his hands came up to brush his hair away from his face. "Dean…" he whispered in a nearly silent wheeze, hot tears streaming down his cheeks. "No… **DEEEAAAAN!**" Sam's voice tore from his throat for as long as he could last without breathing again. Gulping in air between sobs, he crumpled to the cavern floor, his thin limbs unable to hold him up anymore, even less able to catch him.

"Why?" Sam whispered after several minutes of uncontrolled crying and a minor panic attack. He slowly lifted his head, shaggy hair hung down over his face, the tips soaked from tears. "He never said goodbye…"

"Of course he never said goodbye," her voice like silken poison, Bella came up beside Sam, kneeling beside him on the cold cavern floor. "He's a mungo, Sam. It was only a matter of time before he changed." Bella knew her words were lies; she knew better than most that there was no difference between boy and man –genetically speaking, they are still human, still the same species. But the little lamplighter's didn't know that, they were a population of children taken in from the wastes –from families that barely survived and the parents died, from settlements of survivors slaughtered by raiders or driven insane. Some even came from _vaults_, of all places. But there were no adults, no one to teach basic life skills, or basic human development. If they were _different_, they were _bad_ –true childlike simplicity.

Sam sniffled and looked over at her, his eyes red and puffy. "But… that's not like Dean. No matter what he would've…" Sam didn't have proof that Dean would've come to see him, and clearly he was wrong about that. "He would've… he's my brother." He didn't have anything else he could offer on the matter, obviously Dean left without saying anything to him.

Bella rubbed Sam's back in a soothing, circular motion, "It'll be ok, Sam. I had a chat with Dean before he left, when he was sneaking out last night. He still wanted what was best for you, and he told me to let you know he was proud of you," more lies, but making Sam angry wouldn't make him like her any; and this was a really vulnerable time for him, which made it a great time to get in close.

Sam couldn't slouch any further if he wanted to, or he would have. Dean was proud of him? He told Bella to tell him this? Why wouldn't Dean come and talk to him himself? "How will it be ok? My brother's gone and I don't even know if I'll see him again."

"Of course you'll see him again," Bella reassured Sam, "in four years time, you'll be heading out to Big Town, just like everyone else does. I'll be leaving too you know," every chance to draw a comparison between them was an opportunity to show Sam that they were the same, that there was no reason for them to fight each other. "Dean may be gone, but he had a good system going here."

Sam nodded slowly, feeling a bit better but not by much. She was right though; he'd go out to find Dean in four years time, if he was strong enough maybe sooner. But Dean would come looking for him four years, wouldn't he? Sam couldn't really be sure anymore.

"I think you should keep doing what you're doing, it helps all of us and it's what you know. You're still young Sam, but you'll see, everything will get better. In the meantime, since Dean didn't have a chance to appoint anybody before running away, I'll help reorganize the others –being here later than everyone, I don't have a role yet. It'll be easier for everyone if as little changes as possible." Bella offered Sam a serene smile, meant to communicate care and empathy, while underneath her mind ticked away at a plan to keep the control she was working hard at attaining.

'_I'm not that young…'_ Sam thought but what Bella was saying made some sort of sense, it helped him out more than it did her anyway. He couldn't do what Dean did, not a chance. Sam was a gentle soul, hurting random people who wandered toward Little Lamplight didn't appeal to him, he'd never be able to do it. And what if something happened? He'd be responsible. After several moments he nodded, "Thanks Bella." He muttered, sniveling again to clear his nose, wiping tears off on his sleeve. Part of him couldn't help but wonder about her, about her intentions, but that part was muffled by the rest of him; he missed his big brother.

"You're more than welcome Sam," Bella smiled again, mentally congratulating herself on a job well done. The scavenging crews weren't cut out for leadership, and although Jo would probably want a crack at it, she was the only trained medic they had. Bella's reasoning had worked on the others –the one's old enough to understand, anyway. "If it makes you feel better, you can write a biography of Dean as one of Little Lamplight's best mayors in history. It could help you vent, and preserve his memory while it's still fresh."

He shrugged and started to get off his knees, "Dean was Dean, no amount of words can really explain that. But I guess I'll give it a shot." Sam glanced at her for a moment and knew he didn't have to ask, but he did anyway, "Do you really care, Bella? Or do you just want to be mayor? I don't care either way, I don't want to be mayor of Little Lamplight." He was sincere, his question just that, a simple question. He was fourteen, he knew right from wrong, or at least what he'd read and what he'd learned as such. He knew scheming when he saw it, Sam had to be one of the smartest people in town to be the teacher so fooling him took a bit of effort.

"I do care, Sam. And I understand you're feeling abandoned, so it might be hard for you to trust others, and that's ok. Just don't worry about it too much, alright?" Just because Sam didn't actually want the position (which didn't make any sense to Bella), and just because he was right about her, didn't mean she should let him know he was right. "I'll let the others know that Dean's gone, you go ahead and get some breakfast."

With another slight movement of his shoulders Sam started toward the eating area, his walk was slower and his limbs felt heavy. Maybe she was right, maybe he was right, maybe they both were. Regardless, he wasn't in the mood to try and deal with politics right now.

Bella was already older than most in Little Lamplight, already developing in ways that would be considered mungo-esque, but she planned on changing the rules of Little Lamplight anyway. It made no sense to kick out the older children –if they were raised in the same ways as the other Lamplighters, than they understood what they were. They could serve as stronger hunters, better scavengers –subhuman, of course. Afterall, they were still mungos. Mayor's would have to be considered special somehow though, in order to save herself from the same fate. She had time, she'd think of something.

Cas crawled out of the tent, regardless of how close and clingy Dean was. He'd woken with the boy's leg draped over him; body squirmed into his arms for better warmth. Cas could ignore all of this, except for the disturbing morning-wood pressing against his side. Dean was a nice kid, but Cas wasn't willing to get to know him like that at this point. He wasn't in the mood.

The dark haired raider went to their supplies and took a long drink of water, dumping some on his face to wake himself up. He wasn't really supposed to, but that didn't bother him. They were on their way back to the raider base in Evergreen Mills, and that was good enough for him, they'd make it there with more than enough supplies to spare. "Wake up, kiddo." He called obnoxiously into his tent, not caring who that all woke up. "Long day ahead of us."

Dean grunted some incoherent sleep-babble into the rough brahmin skins that served as the tent floor and bedding, rousing from his fitful sleep. He wasn't trained to sleep in the wastes, not really. Patrolling the cave entrance to Little Lamplight was a daytime job –nothing would dare creep in at night, not with those Deathclaws roaming around outside. Dean lifted his head, sleep tousled hair pointing any and every which way as his bleary vision slowly came into focus. "I'm up, I'm up," Dean muttered, dragging himself from the tent and fixing his dirty clothing. "How far are we going anyway?"

Cas stared at Dean's sleepy face and the bed-head style. He'd noticed the attractiveness last night, but now the kid was just downright cute. He quickly shook his head and went about cleaning up his part of the campsite, "We're going to Evergreen Mills." He stated shortly, "Southwest of here, should be there by nightfall today." Cas glanced up at Dean again and furrowed his brow, "Don't just sit there, help me pack up the goddamn tent."

Dean was yawning, absent mindedly rubbing at the uncomfortable stiffness between his legs, "I just got out of 'the goddamn tent,'" Dean dropped his voice as much as he could to mimic Castiel in an unflattering way (but really, he just sounded like he was doing a Christian Bail Batman impression). "I'll help! Just hold your horses." It was an expression Sam had taught Dean, from the prewar books. It had something to do with having patience, though Dean had no idea what a horse even looked like.

Castiel raised an eyebrow at Dean, then just shook his head. "You're fucking weird." He mumbled.

While folding up the brahmin skins, Dean glanced up at Castiel, "Hey Cas, you said a lot of stuff last night about being a man –what about girls? What do they do?" Dean tied the roll of skins together with some old twine and pulled the knot tight. "I mean, when I was mayor of Little Lamplight, I tried to keep the girls in the cave, away from the monsters and mutants and slavers –slavers really like taking the girls." Dean furrowed his brow in thought at that, still somewhat confused on the matter. "I had the other boys make up the scouting and scavenging parties –is that kind of the same idea? We do the hard work, because we can?"

"Well when they're grown up, girls are called women out here. And honestly, it really depends on the woman." Cas answered honestly, double-checking that he didn't drop any of his things, "If she can fight, she can join the raiding parties. There are a lot of female raiders out there; they can be just as vicious as any man. If I were you, I wouldn't judge them just because they're women, they'll cut your nuts off if you piss 'em off." He finished packing and crossed his arms over his chest, "But guys are, on average, stronger so if you work at it you'll be tougher than most of them."

Cas smirked with a bit of a laugh, "Though there are some women I might say are mutated; they're huge, like bigger than you and I. Of course, those women are good in a fight so I'm not complaining." He grinned at one of the Amazon-ess type women in their raiding party who only threw a rock his way.

"Right..." Cas' answer kind of covered the gendered role differences between boys and girls, men and women, but Dean still felt somewhat at a loss –there were differences between men and women obviously, he'd just hoped that Castiel would clarify a little in his explanation. Dean finished up with the skins, ready for a long walk back.

Evergreen Mills was an old factory in the southwest region of the Capital Wasteland, located in a small valley. The returning raider party walked across the metal rails on the eastern side of the valley, the only viable entrance to the settlement without encountering an unfriendly number of grenade bouquets and tripwires (for the record, one grenade bouquet is unfriendly enough, but that's beside the point). Dean stared down at the valley settlement from his vantage point with awe –there were several metal shacks littered across the small valley, along with a few electrified pens containing mostly people, probably slaves. Dean worried for a short moment that he might be here for that exact reason, but Cas hadn't given him that impression, deductively, it was more likely Dean was to be a new initiate, if he had what it took.

There was one large penned-in area that outshone the others, not due to the electrified fencing, but there sheer size of its inhabitant –a behemoth supermutant. Dean quickly turned a wide-eyed stare on Cas, "Why do you have _that_ in here?"

Cas grinned with a superior glint in his eyes, "Wouldn't you?"

Dean couldn't help a double take –how tough were these raiders? To keep a thing like that caged up in the middle of their own town. Who needs a statue when you have a living, breathing testament to your strength in town center. Dean wondered for a moment if that was what the slaves were for, like mice for a snake. He sincerely hoped not.

The walkway led down to the ground level, near the doorway to a large factory building –the old Evergreen Mills foundry. There were several raiders milling about outside, probably dozens more past the door. Dean had no idea there were so many of them in one place. The only raiders he'd ever heard of were in groups of 8 – 12 usually, holed up in abandoned supermarkets or subway stations. Never a town's worth like this. "This is unreal..."

"Castiel, why are you still escorting that snivelling brat?" Dean turned to look at the raider, place a face to the voice – and the unfriendly attitude. It was one of the other raiders that travelled with Castiel from Big Town, he was tall and a little heavier set with dark skin –Uriel, Dean recalled. Than man was 250 pounds of pure _mean_.

"Back off, Uriel." Cas snarled back, his shoulder straightening and his chest seeming to come out as he spoke, taking a threatening step toward the larger man. Despite their difference in size, Uriel seemed to be somewhat worried about what Castiel would do, obviously the man's reputation preceded him in more ways than one. "What I do with my sniveling brats is none of your damn business." His gaze shifted to Dean for a moment then back at his comrade, "It depends on what he intends to do," Cas knew Dean didn't have much of a love for raiders but it didn't change the fact that it was still a better option than any of the current alternatives.

"Whatever, it's your reputation," Uriel sorted back with derision. "Just see that your little pet doesn't get himself killed in the bazaar among the _real_ raiders."

Castiel only scoffed as a reply to the comment. "Anyone that messes with him messes with me, we'll see who ends up killed by a _real_ raider."

Dean looked back and forth from the frightening dark skinned raider back to his apparent protector-amongst-devils; a sort of unrequested guardian angel, only he was angry as all get out. "Get killed in the bazaar? What bazaar? Cas, what's he talking about?"

"Don't freak out, kid." Cas continued toward the bazaar's entrance, "You'll see it soon enough."

The west wing of the two story factory complex featured a small crater-sized hole in the floor, leading down a chasmic expanse to a series of caverns beneath. Apparently the building was a front for the rest of the settlement, and Dean felt just a little more at home knowing that he'd be living underground again. The large chasm sported several more shacks and some shops, and then what Dean would later learn to be a bar. Several other caves branched out from this one to other inhabited corners of the cavern.

"Holy crap..."

Cas smirked, "Yeah, pretty much." The slender raider continued through the caverns like a master, knowing exactly where he was headed without a single moment of hesitation to double check which passage was the right one. Obviously he'd been here many times before and had enough time to learn the paths. "Come on, or what Uriel said may end up coming true." He shouted over his shoulder nonchalantly.

Dean swallowed nervously –Uriel hadn't said much, really the only thing he did say was that there was a bazaar, and that Dean would probably get killed by a raider. Dean was fairly certain the bazaar already existed –as they were walking through it. So the only thing that could come true was death. Dean didn't look like them, walk like them, or act like them. He was an outsider so far, and only the raiding party from before would know that he was here with them –and only Cas would actually stand up and tell anyone that. Dean ran a couple short steps to follow closely behind Cas, watching out for other raiders. "You're joking, right? I mean you sound so friggin' calm, you've gotta be messing with me, right?"

Cas chuckled, "Maybe, maybe not. You stick out like a sore thumb, I wouldn't be surprised if you were suddenly snatched up from behind me." He slowed his pace subtly so Dean could walk a little closer to him without having to jog to keep up. Living in Little Lamplight wasn't exactly ideal for physical exercise. Cas figured that Dean only got out once in a while to possibly help with scavenging and whatnot; the long trek from Big Town to Evergreen Mills wasn't exactly a walk in the park.

After several minutes of walking they reached a shabby looking space that Castiel promptly entered. He motioned for Dean to follow him, revealing a modest living area. It was dirty, cluttered, and smelled a little weird, but Cas seemed comfortable in it. "This is my place, you can stay here." He offered as if it were nothing.

Dean nodded slowly, taking in the sights and smells of the small living area. His bunk wasn't that different back home, well, Little Lamplight wasn't his home anymore, but caves typically smell like caves –damp, and a weird scent that seems to come with being around a lot of rocks, not to mention the faint presence of radiation. "Thanks Cas, I really appreciate this. And..." Dean looked around the small living quarters again, then back up to Cas. Dean looked the raider up and down, messy black hair, sharp blue eyes (which for once didn't look downright pissed), and then that lithe body –like one of those hunting cats, not a lot of bulk but definitely strong. "And I want to stay with you. I realize I have nowhere to go, and you've helped me out so much just by taking me with you. So I guess what I'm asking is: how do I join?"

Castiel had turned away as Dean spoke, dropping his things into the right places (basically anywhere on the floor). He'd wandered a little further inside and stopped, his mind ticking away as he glanced over his shoulder at Dean. "You want to join, eh?" He smiled and crossed his arms, slowly turning around again. "Well… we have an initiation for newbies." His smirk widened, almost playfully.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**A/N: Warning, questionable consent, smut, etc. Dean's 18, legal age of consent, and in my country, more than eligible for marriage. In Fallout, I'm pretty sure legalities are a moot point.**

As Dean prepared for the raider initiation he couldn't help but feel he never signed up for this, except that he explicitly signed up for this. Initiation was more of a hazing, a figuring out how much you could handle before collapsing, a test of endurance –whatever you wanted to call it, it with brutish and it would suck. Dean was stripped of his clothes, discarded in a pile off on the ground, left in only his underwear. He had to take this willingly, had to accept the pain. Four raiders were circled around him, Castiel and Uriel among them, all armed with a melee weapon.

Uriel clasped the baseball bat with both hands, pulling the improvised weapon back and striking it to the palm of his hand, an eager smile on his face, "Well boy, you think you can handle this? You think you've got what it takes to be a raider? We'll see about that." Uriel spat on the ground with distaste, turning to Castiel, "He's your find, the first strike is yours."

Cas glared over at Uriel, pissed that this douche had managed to be one of the four raiders participating in the hazing. Despite his strong reputation, something most raiders didn't understand about Cas was that during the hazing he would pull his punches. He made it look real, like it was all of his strength put in, but the most damage his hits did was knock the initiate over (that usually looked strong enough). No one but the raiders that Castiel had hazed knew this about him, and they'd just as soon not tell. For one, they may have to re-do it. And secondly, Castiel would probably slit their throats.

Dean turned his gaze on Castiel, watching the man carefully. Part of him wished he could be confident enough to say that Castiel wouldn't do it, or at least that he didn't want to do it. But Cas had a reputation –an impressive one, from what Dean could understand of it. And this was part of their customs, everyone circling him now had taken this initiation before. Dean couldn't help but search Cas' eyes for some indication that maybe he didn't want to do it, even a glint of compassion.

Another thing about Cas was that he put on brass knuckles as his melee weapon of choice, made it easier to cause less damage. Granted everyone else in the group wouldn't do the same as him, at least it was only three people wailing on you as hard as they could instead of four. He looked down at Dean, his head tilted up slightly, and to the side. The glint in his eyes was difficult to understand but if Dean tried hard enough he'd get the message; Play along.

Cas reached forward, taking Dean by shoulder with one hand and pulled him close. It happened in an instant, his fist swinging right for Dean's jaw and his leg coming up, hooking around Dean's leg. Just before his knuckles made contact he kicked Dean's legs out from under him to make the boy fall, while his fist did land a hit it was much less painful than it would've been. To help the punch look a little more real he shoved Dean's shoulder with the other hand to send him stumbling to the ground.

Dean landed hard on his hands and knees, which surprisingly hurt about as much as Castiel's punch. '_He's doing this on purpose, that's what that look was for_.' Dean wasn't a mind reader, and he didn't know Castiel nearly well enough to read him, but now it made sense –he was helping, in his own way. Dean pulled himself back up to his feet, getting ready for round two. This would not be easy, and this would not be fun. But it was a hundred times better than being stuffed into one of those slave pens. With Big Town demolished and Sammy waiting back at Little Lamplight Dean had no choice but to find a path that would allow him to persevere –and being part of the gang seemed like the easiest way, he was already half way there anyhow.

The raiders took their turns at beating Dean down, striking at his sides and limbs, leaving glaring bruises and broken skin. Uriel would up again with his bat, frustration evident on his face that Dean hadn't gone down after the first few hits. The boy was stubborn, and it seemed like he actually had a chance of passing the initiation, and Uriel wouldn't stand for that. The bat swung quickly, aimed higher than the previous blows, right for Dean's head.

It was almost like slow motion to him, Cas could see Uriel's expression, he could see the tightening muscles of his arms as he clearly meant to kill the boy. Cas knew the blood lusting look, he could see it before Uriel even moved to do it, and he reacted. They moved nearly at the same time, Uriel's swing and Castiel stepping in closer to 'hit Dean harder'. It wasn't unbelievable that he would get closer, wearing brass knuckles and all that. The bat cracked against his shoulder and splintered against his armour as he stepped between them.

The rest of the hazing stopped, the raiders looking up to see how Castiel would react. His sharp blue eyes snapping up as he turned his head in Uriel's direction. The silence of the moment was eerie, Cas slowly shifting his body to face the larger man, gaze never leaving his face. "Uriel," he growled, slipping the knuckles off and dropping them with a loud, metallic thud. "You'll pay for that." He didn't give the man a chance to explain, his hand gripped the handle of his gun and, just as quickly as Uriel had swung his bad earlier, Castiel drew and shot. The sound ringing off the cavern walls, his face stone cold and calm, eyes narrow as he watched his fellow raider hit his knees and fall to the ground, head blown clean off.

Dean stared in awe as Uriel's lifeless (and headless) corpse fell to the ground with a splat and a thud, blood pooling out and soaking into the dirty earthen floor. Dean wasn't sure what was more terrifying: knowing that he nearly died or watching a man blow his comrade's head off like it was nothing, like he would be better off without him anyway. And maybe he was –Dean remembered the night before, Castiel's venomous rage: '_Because you're always alone, idiot! There is no one; there is nothing... nothing but you and yourself._' But that didn't make sense because, even if Castiel denied it with every fiber of his being, he got in the way on purpose.

"Initiation over," Cas snarled at the others, "My shoulder hurts." He started walking away again, calling over his shoulder like an afterthought. "He's in."

"I'm in?" Dean echoed Castiel's demand, shocked and relieved all at once. '_Of course I'm in, I'm the motherfucking mayor of motherfucking Little Lamplight_!' Dean beamed, "Hell yeah!" Of course, Dean's sense of achievement was marred by the humility of nakedness and semi-consciousness, but hey –victory is still victory. Dean quickly gathered up his clothes and put them on, glad the ordeal was over.

"Congrats buddy," one of the raiders pat Dean on the head roughly, "Welcome to Evergreen Mills." They pretty much dispersed, Cas stopped walking and waited for Dean to catch up to him. He knew the kid would, there was no way they'd beaten him to his limit yet. Or so he figured anyway.

"Thanks," Dean departed from the dispersing crowd, moving to catch up with Castiel. "Thanks for waiting," Dean stammered out. With the beating over and the adrenaline fading away, the edges of Dean's vision started to blacken. "Can we go lie down, or something?"

Cas looked him over and gave a small smile. "Sure," he continued on toward his place. "Come on Dean." It was the first time Cas used his name aside from the first repetition of it. Cas had been calling him kid, boy, and other things like that. Dean was worthy of a name now.

Dean grinned, and it would've been ear to ear, but he was pretty sure half his face wasn't functioning right. Dean walked beside Cas stride for stride, pride welling up in him and serving as a buffer from the easy slip into unconsciousness.

Once back to Cas' chambers Dean made quick work of discarding his armor, intent on cleaning and bandaging his wounds. Dean was grateful –it didn't feel like anything was broken, fractured maybe, but not broken - which was surprising, given Uriel's relentless assault with the bat. Dean used some of the irradiated bottled water to clean out the wounds where his skin broke on impact and looked around for some cloth to bandage with. "Hey Cas, could you give me a hand here?"

Castiel had tossed his own armor to the floor, shedding his clothing with a smirk. "A hand?" He strolled behind the beaten teen, his arms reaching around Dean's slender frame and resting his stubbled jaw on Dean's shoulder. A low chuckle vibrated in his throat as he tilted his head and brushed his lips along Dean's soft neck. "I think you owe me, Dean." He whispered roughly, a hand slipping up Dean's chest, then back down toward the base of his trousers.

Dean's breath hitched in his throat at the unexpected touch. Castiel was doing that... _thing_, again; whatever it was that made Dean feel hot all over and left this weird tension building up inside him. And now Dean was pretty sure Cas was doing it on purpose "What do you mean, 'I owe you'?" Deantried to turn to look Cas in the eye, his own pupils blown wide and black.

Cas breathed in Dean's scent and trailed his tongue along the tender skin, "I think you know what I mean, Dean." He growled, though this time it wasn't angry. Cas wasn't particularly hurtful when hauling Dean to his bed but he wasn't being nice about it either. He didn't understand the word gentle, or at least he didn't understand how to be it. A firm grip and a hard shove were being nice, or so that's how he figured it. Castiel leaned over Dean, pinning him down with the weight of his body, trailing kisses down to the nape of Dean's neck.

Dean choked back a small whimper as he hit the bed, his bruised and battered arms trying to catch him as he fell, but failing under the strain of Castiel's added weight. Dean pivoted his head to face out and breathe, he didn't know what to think or what to do or what was going on –but it seemed like his own body knew better than him. The _heat_ was _unbearable_, and Dean was starting to break out in a sweat, his breathing erratic, and his body arching back to feel Castiel's body against his, a hard line of muscle pinning him down.

Castiel's hands ran up and down the tender flesh of Dean's bruised torso, the calloused skin of his palm scratching. Cas moved slowly against Dean, his arousal poking the teen's side graceless and shameless. "You'll enjoy this," he promised in a growl, flipping Dean onto his back, Castiel's hand finding its way beneath the dirty fabric of Dean's pants and grabbing the base of his cock, squeezing lightly before sliding his hand up and down the shaft.

"C-cas..." Dean stammered out, losing himself to the sensation. Unconsciously his hips bucked forward, eager for more contact, more friction. "Mhmmm," Dean rocked into Cas' hand, eyes fluttered closed with an expression half way blissful.

The raider continued the motion, working Dean up until he could hear how close Dean was. "Okay," Cas muttered, letting go and inelegantly removing the remaining clothing from Dean's already mostly naked body.

Dean outright moaned in protest when Castiel's hand pulled away, leaving him strung out and unsatisfied, right on the edge. Dean's hips bucked forward again, a motion somewhere between a plea and a demand, "Cas," Dean whined out his name, a question and an accusation all in one.

"Now your turn." He spoke in that usual rough way he did, though this time it had a different edge to it. Not sinister but definitely not pure. He threw his own clothes to the floor and climbed over Dean, one thigh on either side of the teen's head. "Suck." He demanded, reaching down and pulling Dean's hair to force his face into Castiel's half-hard dick.

Dean's already laboured breathing took a moment to adjust with Castiel's weight settled over his chest, a moment he didn't have the mercy of taking before he felt the tip of Castiel's cock push passed his lips. The first few moments Castiel guided Dean's head through the right motions, his eyes partially open as he slowly moved along with the sensations, groaning roughly and squeezing the mitt-full of hair he had. Dean nearly choked on the first two of three slow thrusts of Castiels member as is brushed close to the back of his throat, but he soon gave in to his body's wanton needs and base instinct, following Castiel's guidance before taking it up on his own. Dean moaned around Castiel, challenging himself, finding how much he could take, how close he could get to those crisp black hairs at the base of Castiel's cock –they tickled his nose.

Cas bit his lip and pulled away from Dean just before it got good, just as he'd hardened to the point it was painful. "Turn around," he demanded, forcing Dean onto his face. Cas propped Dean's ass up, gave it a slap for good measure, and rubbed the pre-come on his hand around his swollen member for lubrication. Once that was done, he slipped a finger into Dean's entrance, swiveling it around and working him open enough to fit a second and soon a third digit in. Cas smiled at the whimpers he was getting as he finger-fucked the teen, reaching the point where his hand slammed in and out.

Dean's outcries were a series of yelps and muffled screams, Castiel's finger breached him and it was momentarily horrifically painful. Dean's body went lax after the first few moments, adjusting to Castiel's too much, too fast style. Dean could almost enjoy it before the second finger was added, same story went for the third. Slowly Dean could feel the pressure building, and Castiel's rough treatment was starting to feel _so good_. Dean pushed back to receive more, mewling softly as Castiel's hand pulled back.

It was enough for him; Cas pressed his dick to Dean's ass, slowly pushing at it. He pondered the idea of giving warning but decided against it; Dean would learn what sodomy was just like the rest of them had to. Castiel slammed inside, burying himself deep in the first thrust. He let out a low moan as he slowly picked up the pace; no reason Dean shouldn't enjoy it too.

Dean almost didn't recognize his own screams as they were ripped from his throat. Castiel was much bigger than his fingers, and his first slide in wasn't so much a slide as it was a bulldozer, reaching far passed and prepped areas of his finger's limited reach. Dean almost tried to fight back then, to no avail. Castiel seemed pretty single-minded at the moment. But the pain of being filled and torn was offset by the friction, something about Castiel's methodical movement inside him set something off in Dean, and he gave himself willingly to the sensations –moving, rubbing, _groaning_, all so base, so instinct driven.

Cas gripped Dean's hips as he started to pummel the boy's ass, adjusting his thighs and thrust enough to hit what he knew was Dean's prostate.

Dean`s mind almost came back to him for a moment, only to be blown apart; his vision going white behind his closed eyes.

"Sing for me, baby." Cas breathed heavily, hunching over Dean's back to whisper in his ear.

Castiel`s breath in his ear nearly sent Dean off the edge, and he whimpered in reply, eager to give Castiel what he wanted, to keep this going as long as they could. Dean cried out louder at Castiel`s rough and perfect thrusts, but that didn`t take much effort because it just felt so natural in that moment.

Castiel reached around and found the dripping, blood-swollen weight between Dean's legs, he fingered it briefly before stroking it in time with his own movements. He felt Dean's muscles tighten on his dick and caught himself before a whine escaped him; eyes squeezed shut as he rode Dean into his orgasm. With a hot exhale of air and a final solid strike against Dean's prostate, Cas painted his insides milky white, excess already dribbling down from where they connected.

Completely spent, Dean`s shaking knees collapsed beneath when Castiel slammed home, dropping them both to hard mattress beneath them.

Cas gasped for air and pulled out of Dean slowly, dropping down onto the bed with a satisfied sigh. His eyes were closed pleasantly, a small pleasured smile on his lips as he let himself relax.

Dean rolled onto his side, draping an arm over Castiel and snuggling in close for warmth and comfort. It hurt like hell, and Dean had a sneaking suspicion that it would for days; not only his battered ass but his body was still covered in bruises and unbandaged wounds. And oddly enough, he caught himself smiling at the thought of it.

Staring over the horizon of the Capital Wastelands, Jet narrowed his eyes in a thoughtful moment. He'd been increasingly silent as time passed, thoughts and ideas swarming in his mind for the last couple of days. "Long-shot," he muttered the name of an old friend of his, knowing the ever-quiet man was never too far off. "I've been thinking a lot about our next move," he referred to the entire Union. Jet was the leader of the Temple of the Union, a group of people, escaped slaves more specifically, that wanted to create a haven to inspire all runaway slaves.

"The Lincoln Memorial, we need to take it for ourselves." He smiled, his intentions purely good though he couldn't help how wicked it came across, his anger coming out more in his expression than his words in that moment. "We need to make a stand and it's a perfect symbol for any of those slaver bastards." Jet shifted his weight and crossed his arms, sharp eyes still fixed on the horizon. "We won't take their oppression like beaten dogs, their reign of terror is over." He spun around, his broad shoulders straight in the confidence he carried with him.

His stride was strong, and the way he carried himself inspired those working with him. Jet was an escaped slave himself, collared at a young age and forced into labour. His skin was dark, proof of living in the sun, his body covered in the remains of scars left by owners and slavers. But what was evident in his eyes was one thing they could never beat out of him, his fighting spirit remained intact, and it was more than ready to take them on.

"We'll make Lincoln Memorial our base, and once that's done we'll take on the slavers." Jet said excitedly, an almost harmless looking smile now coming over his features. "First though I need to make a deal with some merchants for supplies, has anyone seen a caravan around here?" He called the last part loud enough for his people to hear, his voice was always demanding attention and that's exactly what he got. Jet was a ruthless man when crossed; even friends didn't want to piss him off. Not paying attention to him when he spoke counted as pissing him off, though he'd gained the respect of everyone there so that usually wasn't an issue.

After meeting with his contact in Canterbury Commons, it didn't take long for Jet to secure the supplies; he could be very charming when he needed to be. The first impression majority of people have with Jet is that he's a muscle-bound moron, though they couldn't be far from the truth. He was smart, a scary kind of cunning that the best of fighters wouldn't want to mess with. His name had been carried around the wastes before, merchants knew him and a lot of the time townspeople knew of him too. Depending on who you were, he was either a blessing or a curse.

The movement to take over the Lincoln Memorial started smoothly, though intel explaining the presence of supermutants didn't slide by Jet. He'd considered it and knew exactly what they had to do, fight their way through. It wouldn't be easy, they'd have to use strategies, fight smart, and hopefully, with luck on their side, they'd get through with few casualties. Jet was a strong fighter, and a strong man in general. He knew he wasn't going down but he couldn't say the same for all of the Union.

It happened quickly, two or three supermutants burst through the walls and down the hall toward Jet and his team. A quick shift of his legs to widen his stance and Jet was off, running at the mutants just as quickly as they ran at him. They were at least twice his size with weapons as big as he was, but he didn't care. The others went head to head with the other two beasts, leaving Jet to handle this one alone; that suited him just fine.

The mutant slammed a massive bludgeoning weapon into the floor right in front of him, giving him the opportunity to leap up the beast's arm and shoot it several times in the face with his double-barrel shotgun; it didn't last too long after that. He landed on the ground, his momentum still pushing him to run even after he landed, his shotgun raised again to take out another incoming supermutant.

The Union had trouble ahead of them, but Jet was more than confident.


	5. Chapter 5 Part 1

Chapter 5, Part 1

**A/N: It's been a while since I've updated, and this is half of a semi-complete 'mini-arc,' about the same length as previous chapters. Enjoy (and provide feedback if there's a direction you want this story to go, or something you think it should feature). **

Dean was on his quadruple-check of his inventory, making damn sure he had everything he needed. It had been about a month since his initiation with the Evergreen Mills raiders and this was going to be his first real raid. He'd tagged along on other jobs, but mostly as back up and a pack mule to carry back the haul. This time it was just him and Cas, a smaller raid than the others, but one where each of their actions _counted_ for something, and Dean was just itching to prove himself. He used to be the motherfucking _mayor_ and for the past month all he'd been was 'that kid,' that, and Cas' personal fuck buddy –which Dean had to admit, was one of his favorite roles in the Mills.

"Are you coming or am I doing this one alone?" Cas called from somewhere in the house, knowing him he was probably halfway out the door already. "I swear if you say 'I gotta pee' I'm leaving you here." He grumbled, arms crossed and fully packed and ready to head out. He scrunched his face, _'Why am I waiting? He should be ready.'_ He thought as he started out the door, "I'm gone." He shouted over his shoulder uncaringly.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Dean shouted, shouldering his rifle and running to catch up with Cas –figures the bastard would leave him behind. "I get that you're not holding my hand through this, but you could've at least waited for one goddamn minute! You going to leave me behind to a pack of supermutants too?" Dean knew he wouldn't, but there were no niceties or courtesies among raiders –it was all tuff gruff, insults and injuries. Dean still didn't like it, but he was adjusting fast. Correction, he didn't like that Cas couldn't fucking admit that he had _emotions_, the injuries were fine.

"Nah," Cas smirked, looking over at his partner for this raid, "I'd just as soon leave you to the bloatflies." He snickered, his stride smooth as they headed out of town, several people giving Cas a wave and a 'good luck' or 'if you die I get your shit'.

"So this old factory, you said it's near Arefu? Do you know what they made there? What we'll find there?" Dean knew he was doing it again, that _kid_ thing –asking too many questions and being too curious for his own good. Well, most raiders would either call it a fool thing to do, or a deadman's thing to do; but with Cas it seemed ok to ask, even if he would get scolded for it. And even if Cas did lash out, he knew Dean liked it so he probably wouldn't bother.

Cas furrowed his brow for a moment, considering a mental map in his head. "It's a lot closer to Minefield." He nodded, approving of his own recollection, "Yeah, it's just a little southwest of Minefield, the factory we're looking for is right on the outskirts of a place called 'Scrapyard'." Even Cas had to admit that some of the names given to these places could have been a little more creative but he didn't care enough to complain. "I honestly have no clue what we'll find there but I've heard there are some unusual enemies for the area lurking around so if something's going down I'd rather we be the first one's know."

Dean just nodded his head, understanding the statement for what it was, and pondering the implications. It's a weird thing for a raider to do –_ponder_ things, but there were possibilities to consider. If no one had ever seen this place before, then there could be untold treasures or mysteries...

Often Cas didn't mind the questions; sure they were things that most people would know and they usually annoyed the shit out of him, but it was okay coming from Dean. That didn't mean Castiel didn't snap at him and call him stupid a lot of the time, it just meant he let it go more than a little.

The factory was old and run down (big surprise there), the dilapidated walls barely held up the floors above them, but it still stood roof and all. The view was completed by the old shabby parking lot, almost empty aside from four or five run down nuclear cars littering the parking lot –and in one case the car was literally littering the parking lot, it was in a half a dozen pieces, or maybe those were pieces of two cars. And then there were the ghouls.

Dean had never seen a ghoul before in his life, had hardly even heard of them. From what he did know, they were typically found in subways and underground tunnels that used to be inhabited by mungos –shit, he said it again –inhabited by _people_ before the war. The hideous, vile looking things; walking around in broad daylight caused them to reek, the heat of the sun baking the deadflesh on their bones. Dean nearly gagged at the smell, turning away from the sight and bringing a hand up to cover his mouth and nose. "Those are disgusting! What the hell?"

Cas curled his nose at it as well, being a raider didn't mean you liked all the smells of the Capital Wasteland, far from it. He lifted his gun and aimed it at one of their wobbly heads, he knew that some ghouls were friendly but he hated the damn things regardless of what they could say. "They're ghouls, fucking ugly living dead. I don't care what you think, but I," a loud shot rang out as the first ghoul's head blew out, "hate them."

"Living dead? How did that happen? So those are people?" Dean knew that statement was moot –technically raiders and slavers were people, and he hated both, or at least he used to hate the raiders too. And supermutants were just mutated humans as well, but Dean would never consider pitying them. He instead readied his assault rival –he was no stranger to combat. Though he was more used to having a cave walls, watching his flanks may prove trickier than he'd originally hoped.

Cas smiled wickedly, "They used to be people, sometimes after death they get up. Some are even intelligent, but most are like these, feral." The ghouls were long alerted to their presence and startled shamble-running in their direction. "Heads up, rookie." Cas laughed as he pegged off a few more.

Dean took his cue and opened fire, the _ratatat_ of his assault rifle was oddly soothing to him as the ghouls started dropping. It was somewhat terrifying, seeing the mindless former humans hiss and snarl as they caught wind of the raiders' presence. Every yowl from a dying corpse seemed to usher in more that were out of sight beside the building. They charged mindlessly, with no fear –Dean was starting to think that fear was a strictly human thing. Dean just kept on firing, keeping as much distance between himself and the charging horde of sightless undead as he could. Their eyes were glazed over a milky white, and they seemed to follow sound and possibly smell. Dean emptied a full round on a twitching ghoul before realizing that it was already dead –well, twice dead, in a sense.

Castiel didn't make a point of giving Dean any help unless the kid needed it, and through Dean's first real fight Cas didn't see any reason to give it. By the end of it he stood, rifle slowly lowering, ice blue eyes scanning the area until they settled on Dean. A small smile reached him before he masked it with a muscle twitch. "Not bad, Dean." He started toward the factory calmly, adjusting the gun and a wiping off any excess ghoul goo.

Dean looked up at Cas, realizing that the two of them were the only ones standing and he would have wondered how much extra work Cas had to do to make up for him if Dean wasn't presently shaken to his core. _Ghouls?_ The walking undead, were real? And so... so... Dean nudged the bullet-riddled ghoul at his feet –the body was stiff like a corpse, the leathery skin wrinkled and pulled taut at the shift in direction. Dean could've swore he saw it twitch again, and an almost phosphorescent foam dripped from its mouth. He shuddered and ran to catch up with Cas.

The door opened with a loud, rusty creak, Cas barely cringing at the awful noise. He walked inside, ignoring the dusty, stale air though he couldn't help a light cough. "Looks like this place has been abandoned for quite a while, means no others have been here yet." He looked over at Dean's still partially anxious face, the feeling of the first real fight slipping away and leaving something that Cas knew would make Dean itch. "You did good, Dean. Don't start freaking out now." He didn't expect Dean to admit to the anxiety, but he could see it. No one who came from such a sheltered place would be perfectly fine with fending off ghouls in the first few weeks of living out in the wastes.

Dean's wide eyes focused on Cas, and he couldn't help the confused expression that took over as he tried to make sense of this –was Castiel _complimenting_ him? But they both know that Dean couldn't do as much as Cas, wasn't as experienced or well trained, so was Cas _comforting_ him? That was even more alarming. Dean stopped when he realized –he'd gone mute since the fight started, all thought and horror with no talk. "Thanks, Cas. I'll be fine." It wasn't much, but it proved that Dean was still functioning, that he was mentally as present as he was physically. Raiders who couldn't hold their own tended to not come back from raids.

Cas glanced back at his raid partner and nodded quietly with a lack of anything else to say. He looked ahead again, covering the fact that he was partially relieved Dean hadn't lost his wits during that little skirmish. Ghouls were nasty things but supermutants had certain hobbies that rendered a person limbless.

The factory had several ghouls meandering about, mostly feral and the rest Cas wasn't sure. He mowed through them like any other thing that stood in his way, his eyes unflinching and showing no emotion toward the things he was killing. Cas climbed through the levels, first up and after finding basically nothing of value, he slammed his fist into a wall with an angry snarl. "What the hell did we come this way for if there's nothing here to find? Goddamn it…"

"It's not so bad," Dean replied, munching on an old box of Salisbury steak –or at least that's what the label said. He'd picked up several stimpaks and radaways from the medi packs throughout the factory while following Cas around, a few caps and extra rounds of ammunition too, though he wasn't sure why that was in a factory. Before becoming mayor of Little Lamplight Dean had been part of the scavenging crew, and every once in a while they'd find an old building that still had stuff worth taking. "Are we looking for something big?"

"It's not so bad, he says…" Cas grumbles to himself, his expression flat and bordering on angry. "I told you I don't know what's here so I'm hoping for something big. Of course this place could just as easily be as useless as some of those supermarts…" Just as Cas was about to leave the room he noticed some decent papers splayed out on the floor, and decent meant that the pages weren't ruined and had legible writing on them. That was rare. Cas trudged over and lifted them up, glancing over the words and started to smirk. "Not sure what the person was scribbling about but apparently something's up with the production floor, let's check it out."

"Alrighty," Dean pulled himself from the wall he was leaning against and fell in step behind Castiel –the guy had a crazy 'I've found something!' face, but on Cas for some reason it was actually kind of cute. But Dean knew better than to ever tell him that, it had only been a month and Dean was no closer to Cas emotionally than he was on day 1.

Castiel trotted down the few flights of stairs and found his way to the production floor easily enough, he knew factories like this one had a similar layout to all the rest and the production floor was basically in the same place it always was. He'd avoided it before because he figured that there'd be nothing there but ruined products of the old work that had been done. Obviously he'd been wrong.

The production floor of the factory took up the greatest expanse of the main floor. Back in the days before the war there would be dozens of workers milling about working the lines, pulling produce off the conveyer belts and packaging the products. Upon walking through the first set of doors Dean noticed that there were several white suits hung on the walls –radiation suits.

The conveyer expulsion point seemed jammed, and there were piles of broken and sealed glass jars on the floor around it. The sealed containers seemed to hold a plasma like substance that was still glowing, despite how long it had been since the factory door had even been opened. "Hey Cas, what do you figure this stuff is?" Dean picked up one of the glowing jars and turned it over in his hands to inspect it.

Cas looked at it and shrugged, "Not sure but it might be sell-able."

It looked familiar to Dean –not the jars or the plasma, but the glow. Back at Little Lamplight in the caves there grew a moss that Jo would use to help cure radiation poisoning in the children. It helped to purify the irradiated water and saved more than a few scavengers' lives. "Only radiation glows like this." Dean carefully set the jar back down and backed away. He didn't feel sick, not yet anyway. Maybe the jar was actually sealed.

Cas tilted his head and inspected the jar a little closer himself, he could see this one was sealed, or at least mostly anyway. He stepped away from it, "Yeah, you're right. Good eye," he couldn't help the compliment this time. Carrying a bag full of radiation was pretty damn stupid; somehow Dean could just… see it. Cas was a little impressed. "Anyway let's move on then."

The factory seemed dedicated to producing this radiation plasma, and as far as either Cas or Dean could tell, there was no practical use for it. The rest of the production floor seemed unremarkable, save for the ladder beneath the grated floor.

The blue-eyed raider grinned and found a way to lift the grate away, shoving it aside. "This looks promising… Come on Dean." Cas called authoritatively as he started down the ladder, his rifle slung over his shoulder.

As Dean neared the bottom of the ladder he could hear it again –the hissing and the snarling, and there was a lot of it; more ghouls. Dean touched down as quietly as possible, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Castiel lifted a finger to his lips to reassure Dean that being quiet was definitely a better idea, though neither of them were particularly used to the lighting. Once they were ready, Cas pointed with two fingers down the path and started that way himself.

There was a short concrete tunnel that ended with a giant gear-shaped metal door, and it was partially open. The hissing seemed to come from just beyond there, echoing down the tunnel, and Dean swallowed hard past the lump in his throat. He _hated_ ghouls –granted he'd only just seen them outside for the first time, but they gave him the _creeps_. Dean looked over to Castiel, his wide eyes begging the older raider to go first.

Cas rolled his eyes and looked up at the door again, this was a vault, that much he recognized. He opened it slowly and peered down the corridor, squinting as if it'd help his sight. He wanted to be a little quieter here, not wanting to attract every ghoul in the area. He lifted a machete instead of his gun and snuck inside, killing a ghoul lurking near the entrance as he went. Cas waved Dean in, indicating there were no more ghouls in the immediate vicinity.

He looked at the boy with a sarcastic smirk, "Pussy." Cas chuckled and moved on.

"Asshat," Dean shot back.


	6. Chapter 5 Part 2

Chapter 5 Part 2

The old vault had a layout identical to those of the others –vault tech never did get very creative with their designs. The living quarters still held a vast majority of the belongings of previous inhabitants –as well as the ghoul-ified previous inhabitants themselves. Dean wandered into one of the living spaces to look for anything interesting, a comic would be nice, or a pre-war book. The rooms didn't have any lighting other than the weird glow coming from the baseboards. Dean didn't see the ghoul so much as he heard it, its snarl emanating from a source inches from Dean's face. Dean let out a frightened and pained scream as the ghoul struck at his side, sending him running from the room.

Cas caught the ghoul unaware and decapitated it with ease as the thing darted out of the room after Dean. "You okay?" He looked down the hall, not sure if that scream was just fear or if Dean had been hit. If he'd been hit then Cas would have to drag his ass home and that just wasn't appealing to him in the least.

"It hit me! Oh _God_, it _hit me_!" Dean checked his side where the ghoul's claws connected –well, they felt like claws anyway. "They're not like zombies, are they? Am I infected? Am I going to turn into one of them?" Dean looked up at Cas, meeting his bright blue gaze, terrified that the man was going to kill him for becoming a ghoul –literally.

Castiel stared wide-eyed for a moment, to see if Dean was serious. He didn't respond, instead he turned on his heel and started walking away with a long and much needed laugh. "Then let's keep moving." Cas said flatly, the 'impressed with Dean' feeling having slipped quite a bit.

The Overseer's chambers were far more interesting than the living quarters –in an educational-discovery sort of way. "This thing is asking for a password." Dean poked at the computer screen, not entirely sure what exactly it was. They never had much for technology in Little Lamplight, the extent of which was the laser rifle that the scavenger crew found. "Is that like the secret code to get into Lamplight?"

"If you can't hack it, leave it. And what the hell are you talking about?" Cas furrowed his brow, glancing in Dean's direction as he strolled through the office, "Just start looking, make yourself useful."

After searching the office over, the filing cabinets and desk, Dean discovered the password for the computer written in the cover of the Overseer's journal in the desk. "Got it!" Dean discarded the Overseer's notebook on the desktop and dropped into the chair, picking out the corresponding keys on the board for the password.

"Nicely done," Cas complimented as he picked up the journal and started skimming through it, looking for something that might add to what they'd already seen.

After several minutes of silence, both individuals absorbed in their reading, Dean let out a low whistle. "Shit," he concluded, "Says here that the orders from Vault tech were to experiment with human resistance to radiation. Those jars upstairs must've held this isotope thing that they talk about here." Dean leaned in closer to the screen, squinting to make out the digital fonts, "...I think they were intentionally exposing the vault people to radiation, like some twisted experiment or something. According to the scientists' reports some people are more immune than others, but after prolonged exposure everyone succumbs to... mutations." Dean stared at the screen for a minutes, then turned to Castiel, "All of these entries are signed off 'Dr J,' any idea who that is?"

Cas walked around the desk to stand behind Dean and eyeball the computer screen for a moment. "Dr. Joseph." Before Dean could ask him how he knew that, Cas lifted the journal up a little, as if it answered the questions. "Here, listen to this;"

_I never imagined that it would be this awful. When the company chose me to be an Overseer of a Vault I felt honoured, like my contributions were finally being recognized. I deserved this promotion dammit, but this isn't what I thought it would be. _

_The scientists look like they're hiding something, but I can't put my finger on it. It's like they're all in on some secret, like a special club or something. I'm the goddamn Overseer! I deserve to know what it is! ...Maybe that's just the vault talking, this place makes everybody just a little crazy with cabin fever._

_The adjustment to living underground is harder on everyone that I thought it would be. I have to admit, even I'm having troubles. There's no natural lighting, and you never thought you'd miss it, but you really do. Everyone's sleep schedules are all out of whack, and some can't even sleep at all. And now there are people getting sick, I just don't know what to do with an eternity within the same five tunnels._

_This sickness isn't natural –claustrophobia and stress do _not_ manifest in physical symptoms like this. Fatigue I can understand, but this rash? It's almost as though their skin cells are dying on their bodies and not being replaced. Maybe someone here was sick when they were admitted, and this is a mutated strain in the worst extreme. I'll have a talk with the doctors._

_The doctors don't know what it is, but their best guess is necrotizing cutis –a very surface version of your typical flesh eating disease. Of all the things-! But the doctor did tell me something interesting, that the scientists know more about this disease then they'd want the rest of us to know. Almost as though they're the ones behind it all. I'm going to talk to Dr. Joseph later._

Dean couldn't help but gawk at Castiel as he read the last entry aloud. "So were these guys... _intentionally_ turning people into ghouls?"

"Looks that way," Castiel closed the journal and tossed back onto the desk. They'd already been all over the vault and had scavenged what little bits might be useful to them. At this point he was ready to go home, nothing important had come up and nothing was going to. In fact, he felt even more like leaving due to the fact that there was enough radiation sitting around in this place to turn someone into a freaking ghoul.

"What kind of crazy people toy with people's lives? I mean seriously, I thought the vaults were made to protect the people from nuclear waste and stuff –not expose them to it." Dean slumped in the Overseer's chair, staring at the dimly lit screen in disbelief. "Almost makes you kind of glad that you live in the post-war era, huh?"

Cas crossed his arms for a moment and paused to think, he'd never really considered the thought. "Are you glad to live in the post-war era?" He muttered, "It's a fight no matter what time you're in so we may as well live here."

"Hell yeah, I am," Dean muttered back, glossing over the doctor's entries again. "Can you imagine a world like that? Where a few people have all the money, can lie to whoever and essentially control other people's lives? I mean here you can go out into the wastes and maybe survive, join the raiders or join the slavers or just settle down in a town. There's no government, no vault tech." Dean looked back over at Cas, remembering Big Town and how the Raiders had killed everyone there, "But I guess then again, the government wouldn't allow gangs of self centered immoral jackasses to kill entire towns either."

Cas made a face at Dean, sticking his tongue out and squinting his eyes together. "Get over it." He muttered, glancing around the building. "Let's get out of here," Cas headed for the door, lifting his rifle now instead of his machete. He tossed Dean a bottle of Rad-X, something to help their resistance to radiation. "Take this while you're at it." With that he trotted down the vault halls, shooting everything that moved or made a sound he didn't like. If asked, yes he was pissed, if asked why he'd tell you it was because they were pretty much going back empty handed. He honestly felt sick knowing someone turned other people into ghouls on purpose, who the hell would wish that one someone? Even in the 'name of science', which definitely wasn't an excuse.

Dean dragged himself from the chair and readied his assault rifle, following after Cas up and out of the vault. Dean couldn't help but wonder what type of guy Castiel really was –besides being nice to him despite raider culture, Cas was also a dreamer, as evidenced by his hope to find something big. Dean tried to imagine what Castiel had hoped to have found, and may have been too embarrassed to say. The thought was a nice distraction from Castiel's ballistic rage that laid every ghoul in sight to rest.

Castiel walked out of the factory and breathed in the fresh (in comparison) air. He glanced back to make sure Dean was still there and then started walking, deciding to take a peek at Scrapyard just in case something worth taking might be there.

Dean followed Castiel in silence, expecting the long walk back to be more of the same. The man didn't even bother telling him that they were checking out another place, he just sort of did it. Dean sighed, this would make the walk back _really_ awkward and really long.

As Cas passed through the shabby area he heard a dog's growl and instantly lifted his rifle. He hated the damned vicious dogs lurking around; often they were quiet enough until they were right next to you, biting your fucking leg.

"Hey hey hey!" Dean shouted at Cas for lifting his gun, kneeling next to the dog on the ground. "Were really going to shoot a dog?" Dean eyes were narrow and accusatory, "He's friendly, see?" Dean reached over and pet the dog, who lifted its ear back up in response, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. "Look Cas, he even has multi-coloured eyes, one's blue like yours and the other is brown." Dean smiled and continued to pet the dog.

Cas paused then lowered his rifle with a sort of grunt and an 'oh' kind of noise. He watched the way it reacted to Dean and smiled a little. One blue eye like Cas' and one brown, kinda like Dean's (except Dean had hazel eyes). It was a stupid thought but Cas sort of liked it, like this dog was some kind of bonding agent between them. He knew how rough he could be and how jagged his edges were, getting anywhere close to Dean was difficult and when frustrated Castiel had a tendency to throw his hands into the air and give up. But this dog seamed different, he approached Dean and the dog carefully.

Dogmeat turned on Cas, ears flipped back and growling again, snapping at his hand. "Whoa, Dogmeat!" Dean pulled in his scruff, dragging him back away from Castiel. "If you do that, he'll shoot you," Dean whispered in the dog's ear, petting roughly through his scruff.

Castiel had retracted his hand swiftly, eyes narrowed and a snarl of his own escaping him, "Damn right I'll fucking shoot him!" he growled out, adjusting his rifle in his arms again, "And what the fuck is up with 'Dogmeat'? Seriously!" Castiel was obviously frazzled by this.

"Can we keep him?" Dean pleaded with Cas, wide eyes turned up to him for emphasis. Hey, it worked for Sammy, why the hell can't it work for him?

"Are you kidding? This… THING is a menace! I'm not taking that with me so it can chew on my leg!" Cas shouted dramatically, pointing his gun Dogmeat's way.

The dog barked in return, growling and snarling viciously at the blue-eyed raider, moving slightly between Cas and Dean. Castiel snarled back and poked Dogmeat in the muzzle with his gun a few times, the dog not moving to provoke but it didn't back down either. Cas lifted the corner of his mouth disdainfully, unimpressed and downright unhappy with the overall outcome of their trip.

"Fine…" He sighed and started walking, "You can keep him."

"Awesome! Thank you!" Dean hopped up and gave Cas a quick hug before the raider could retreat from the PDA.

"Nyah! Get off!" Cas growled, pushing at Dean grumpily.

About ten feet into their trip home together with Dogmeat, the dog was chasing after Castiel's ankles and nipping at him as he stepped. "Agh! Goddamnit!" Cas kicked at Dogmeat and fumbled to get away from the quick little bites. "DEAN!" Cas shouted, "GET YOUR FUCKING DOG OFF OF ME!" He flailed around which, from Dean's vantage, must have been the funniest thing that this raider had ever done. Finally, after much running away from Dogmeat, Castiel was knocked down and jumped on.

Once the opponent was down, Dogmeat snorted and trotted away though just as he was about to get out of arm's reach Castiel reached out and snatched his tail, dragging him back. "Oh no you don't, mutt!" He laughed dementedly, his hair totally out of place and face twisted menacingly.

After a few minutes of wrestling, Cas got up and dusted himself off, letting Dogmeat get away this time. "That's what I thought you said," He muttered, kicking dirt after the whining dog that had trotted right back to Dean. "Anyway, let's keep moving."

Dogmeat's ears flipped up and he raised his head, looking around in several directions with a slight twitch of his muzzle, looking for something. "What is it boy?" Dean asked, curious as to what alerted the dog. "Go find it!" And on command, Dogmeat was off and running, returning a very short time later with a laser rifle.

"Holy shit, would you look at this!" Dean took the rifle from dogmeat, petting him on the head. "It's a laser rifle!" Dean beamed, turning the rifle over to Castiel, "This dog is totally awesome!" Dean turned back to Dogmeat again, excited for how well this worked. "Go find it," he commanded again, and again the dog was off and running.

Castiel stared in a quiet awe, not sure of what he could say. The damned dog just brought back a laser rifle like it was nothing. He watched Dogmeat run off into the distance, his hand slowly coming up to scratch the side of his head.

Dean smirked at Cas, "Still think the dog's a menace? This trip might be fruitful after all."

"Oh it's a menace alright, but I'll give it a bit of lee-way… This time." Cas smirked and continued down the path with that confident stride of his, a slight sway in his hips that he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. "I guess I'm not the only one who has a soft spot for strays." He snickered, mostly to himself.

The walk back was a long one, and could almost be described as awkward, if a dog could set an awkward atmosphere. Dogmeat stayed to Dean's left, trotting happily along and occasionally running ahead to sniff at something and return again. Every time he heard Castiel's voice his ears flipped back and he bore his teeth with a small growl, looking Castiel's way like he was some sort of mutated cat in human skin. Dean thought it was hilarious, Cas –not so much.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_**The following events occur approximately two years after Dean's departure from Little Lamplight...**_

"Hey don't you think we're a little-" Chuck stumbled across the rough terrain, interrupting his train of thought and sentence. He picked up the pace to catch up with his 'fearless leader.' "-a _lot_, far out? I mean we're days away from Paradise Falls."

"Would you stop your whinin'? I'm surprised no one's shot you yet," came Rufus' rough reply as he trudged onwards, a steady pace and knowing step –someone who's wandered the wastes his entire life. "Look boy-"

"I'm 30!"

"Well you act like a boy!" Rufus shouted back, never one to ignore snappy banter, "I said look here, the buyers want _kids_, ok? They sell better, last longer, and they're more immune to this radiation crap. The last lot we picked up earned us a boatload of money-"

"Why do you say 'boatload,' we're nowhere near an ocean –or any other body of water for that matter," Chuck retorted, his quick remarks the only thing keeping him alive (he has very few marketable skills), but it was also the thing that kept him knocking on death's door –an apocalyptic comedian.

"I thought I tol' you ta stop whinin'," Rufus shot back, "are you even listenin' to what I'm sayin'? That town's out this way, the one with all th' kids in it."

"You mean Little Lamplight? I thought that place was a myth?" Chuck struggled to keep up with Rufus. He wasn't made for this outdoors stuff, all the hiking and trekking about; fighting monsters and fleeing from raiders (well, Chuck fled. Rufus usually shot them, like poking at a beehive). No, Chuck was certain that he was born in the wrong millennia. He'd be much better suited to life in a vault, or so he was convinced.

"You've never left DC, have you boy?" Rufus' tone was accusatory, like hermits were criminals or something.

"I'm not a boy..."

"Quit your bellyaching! Everyone knows about Little Lamplight, and I've met folks from Big Town –messed up buggers, those are. It's like they're only half human, they don't understand normal life –like basic social interaction. They jus' don't get it, like they were raised by wolves only they weren't –they were raised by other children." Rufus stopped at a peak in the terrain, scouting the direction ahead of them, "and that town's around here somewhere."

It was one month before Bella's eighteenth birthday, but she wasn't the least bit concerned about that. If you'd have asked her three months ago, she wouldn't have been concerned then either –only now the difference was _why_. Everything had been going perfectly, running smoothly and exactly according to plan. Dean had forced the other girls into menial tasks, boring and not at all physically challenging while elevating the boys to positions of power –the scavengers and the scouts. Seduction was key to corruption, and it was evident that the age of expulsion from Little Lamplight should have been much younger than 18.

But none of that mattered anymore, because none of her pawns were _alive_ anymore. The youngest children died first, because they were the ones furthest back in the cave. The vault had opened –the vault _never_ opened; and what came out was more than any lamplighter could handle. Supermutants, dozens of them came meandering out of that formerly sealed off metal gate. They were mungo`s once, closed off in the vault, and denying the first generation of Little Lamplighter`s entry, or so the story goes. The scouting crews broke off and attacked the mutants in packs, but failed miserably.

Bella was hiding under the desk in the infirmary, next to Jo`s lifeless body. She hoped the sight of death would deter the supermutants from investigating the area further –they were stupid, afterall. But what Bella hadn`t counted on was how those giant, mutated green beasts treated corpses –they were to be cooked, chopped and hacked to bits, to be strung up in nets. If she`d have known that, she would never have chosen to hide instead of run; never have cornered herself with no way out when two of them advanced on her.

The sounds were unlike anything he'd ever heard; loud brutish and uncivilized shouts echoing throughout the caves followed by the shrill screams of children. Sam swallowed hard, he was 16 years old now and as the long-standing teacher of Little Lamplight he'd known the rumours and written understandings of what a supermutant sounded like. Big, ugly beasts that could speak English, just not very well. They often had sacks of mutilated human body parts; flesh strung up all around their 'homes', big nets holding up limbs and skinned torsos.

It didn't take a genius to know what it was, that the vault had opened at the back of the cave and these supermutants were running rampant through Little Lamplight. All the children at the back would be dead by now, those in the great caverns would be next, and the footsteps would only get louder.

Sam's heart raced as he bolted from the schoolhouse, the screams getting louder as he left the muffled safety of his familiar wooden walls. He heard a terrified squeak leave his throat and threw his head around in search of the best option. Running was the only answer that came to mind, run and run fast. His legs were long and spindly, he wasn't used to the new height he was reaching and was definitely not a master of his own body. He scrambled to the gate and found the switch where he remembered Dean had shown him. Opening the gate meant the brutes could follow him, but the barbed wire on top of their gate wasn't something he wanted to attempt either. If he could run fast enough the mutants would never know he was there at all.

Sam threw the switch and bolted out of the opening gate, ducking just in case. He'd never been part of the scavenging or hunting teams; his place was with the knowledge left to them by the first settlers. Sam was skinny, getting taller, and weak. His chest heaved up and down heavily, tears streaming down his dirty cheeks as he stumbled up the slope and toward the bright lights outside. He didn't know what would wait for him out there, he didn't know but it had to be better than supermutants behind him.

Sam tripped as he reached the end of the cave, blinded by the sunlight and completely disoriented. He wheezed and coughed, crawling forward pathetically until he bumped into the legs of two grown men. Sam looked up fearfully and struggled to get to his feet, pointing backward frantically, "Run! Supermutants!" He couldn't exactly manage proper sentence structure in his state of mind, nor could he take in the appearance of the two men.

In their slight confusion, Sam managed to run past Rufus and Chuck though his coordination was far from impressive.

Rufus and Chuck exchanged quick but confused glances. After a brief silence, Rufus edged into a tentative question first, "..was that one of the kids?"

Chuck nodded slowly, "and I think he said something about supermutants." The both of them turned to face the direction Sam ran from, the direction of Little Lamplight. Sure enough, there were a few muties on the horizon ambling toward them. Two of them had typical supermutant armaments –a nail bat; but the third had a mini gun.

"Get down!" Rufus shouted, diving for cover and drawing his hunting rifle. Chuck mirrored Rufus' actions, finding similar cover and fumbling with his magnum cartridge. "We've gotta bring 'em down or we'll never get a good haul outta this trip!" Rufus rose up from behind his hiding place –a demolished wall, about chest high –and aimed out at the oncoming mutants. His rifle offered him better accuracy over the distance than their mini gun did, and he managed a headshot, picking off one of the melee muties.

Rufus served as a distraction for Chuck, who easily took out the remaining to mutants with his scoped magnum. There were few things in the wastes that actually _threatened_ their lives, and the politics of slaves, raiders, and the friggin' union were far more trouble than a handful of mutants. "Alright, you go after th' spindly one that ran past us. He couldn't have made it far. I'm gonna see if there're any others left alive in there." Rufus shouldered his rifle and began his cautious trek to Little Lamplight.

Chuck holstered his magnum and looked back over the horizon, "Fun, I love chasing kids. Makes me feel like a freaking pedophile." Chuck pointedly did not deliberate on the thought of exactly _what_ captured children were used for, and ran off after Sam.

Sam had actually made it a fair distance away while running, he still attempted to run of course but he was too tired to keep up the speed, it was more of a quick walking pace now. He gulped in air, gasping and wheezing by this point. He didn't know those men, they didn't look like raiders but they were obviously mungos. _'Not good, not good, not good…'_ He thought repeatedly, glancing back over his shoulder. He thought this action would serve as a calming agent, thinking the supermutants had gotten the mungos and were distracted. He was wrong; one of them was right on his tail. "AH!" He shrieked and tried to pick up the pace.

"Hey there kiddo, I'm not gonna hurt you. Just calm down and we'll talk, okay?" Chuck had his hands raised, showing Sam he was disarmed. The pale, skinny kid hadn't made it very far before running himself right out of breath –figures that lamplighters were weak, probably damaged too. They make for better slaves when you get them early anyway.

"Get away from me, mungo!" Sam shouted, spinning around to face the man. He knew he wouldn't outrun this guy; there was no way especially if the mungo had already caught up to him after he'd run as far as he could. "What could we possibly talk about? You aren't a mutant, you don't look like a raider so you could only be a slaver." While Sam's logic was flawed, it didn't stop the fact that the reality of his situation was swiftly dawning on him. If this man wasn't any of the other things, then he was a slaver. Which meant this man was trying to capture him. _'Oh god… Dean please…'_ Tears welled up in his eyes, "Get away from me…" He repeated himself though he knew it wouldn't do him much good.

Chuck rolled his eyes, more than tired of trying to convince the frightened boy to come with him. He pulled the mesmertron and zapped Sam point blank, leaving the kid essentially mesmerized (hence the name), and very suggestible. Chuck clasped the slave collar around Sam's neck, "Okay, this collar's going to explode if you don't get back to Paradise Falls, so just keep calm and come with me."

Sam's mind snapped back in place and the welled tears spilled over, "No, no, no, no…" he reached for the collar but knew better than to tug on it. His legs quivered, expression twisted in desperation and fear. "No, please let me go! Please! I still have two years before he comes back!" Sam gripped Chuck's sleeve and fell to his knees, shaking all over and sobbing. He knew the answer, he knew begging more wouldn't help. Trying to get the collar off meant the same thing whether he did it or they did it. He was done.

Chuck eyed the sobbing teen with a little curiosity and a lot of disdain –honestly, he wasn't fond of kids. Now, 16 was on the line of being a kid and being a man, but that all depended on your background – who your parents were, what your upbringing was like, and what town you came from. A lamplighter at the age of 16 was as useless as a lamplight the age of 25 or 10 –no real world experience and all fear of those evil 'mungos'. But then there was the curiosity, "Who's coming back?"This would either be worth checking into or worth staying the hell away from.

Sam's bottom lip quivered, "My brother, he left two years ago, he promised he'd be back for me…"

Chuck thought about it for a moment, if this kid had a brother who left, he'd have gone to Big Town. And the last Chuck saw of Big Town was, well, nothing. "Yeah, I don't think you'll be seeing him again."

Rufus caught up after about an hour since they split ways –which would've had Chuck worried, if he didn't have such faith in Rufus' abilities. The man had survived two bullets to chest before and he probably couldn't die even if he wanted to. Rufus had three smaller children in tow, apparently some survived –thank _God_, it'd really suck to have this trek across the godforsaken wasteland be for nothing.

"They're all collared and set, let's get a move on," Rufus just kept walking past Chuck, every bit a demand and not a hint of suggestion.

"Coming," Chuck shot Sam a look, "let's go kiddo, we've got a long walk ahead of us."

Sam looked up at the other kids and hung his head. There was nothing he could do or say anymore. He pulled himself up and started walking, taking the hands of two of the other kids for comfort's sake, it didn't help him any but they seemed a little better at least. _'Paradise Falls… I wonder if I'll sell, or where I'll end up? I wonder if Dean's okay…'_ He bit his bottom lip and took a long, slow breath. _'Dean… someone… please help me.'_

The child on Sam's right –Tommy- looked up at Sam, his eyes finally clear of tears, "Sam, are we going to be ok? What about the others? Are they coming too? Are those giant green mungos gonna come after us?" Tommy was a normally curious child, and asking questions sort of brought his mind away from other things he'd seen; at least Sam was here, Sam knew everything.

Sam looked down at the boy and smiled sadly, "Honestly Tommy, I don't know." He knew what the kids thought of him; he knew he was the one with the answers. But he didn't want to be the one they pointed at screaming 'you said we'd be okay'.

"What do you mean?" The other boy whined, Charlie's dark eyes looked huge from Sam's angle.

"I mean these are slavers, Charlie. They'll either sell us to people who will be nice to us, or people who will use us and hurt us. But right now, with the collars on your necks, there's nothing that you can do and there's nothing that I can do." Sam spoke quietly, softly with tears in his eyes. "Just hold my hands and pray, okay? There's nothing else we can do."

Charlie clenched his jaw and squeezed Sam's hand; the only thing keeping him from kicking and screaming was the calmness in his teacher's voice. "Okay…"

Tommy nodded quietly –it wasn't at all comforting to him to know that Sam didn't know what was going on, that he wouldn't tell them that they'd be ok. And Sam didn't even talk about the others, almost like he ignored that point on purpose. Tommy squeezed Sam's hand, and Lilly's to his right. They'd just have to stick together then.


	8. Chapter 7 Part 1

Chapter 7

"Come now love, what did you expect? Every other merchant is _terrified_ of you, they won't come near here!" The arrogant merchant paced around Jet's 'war' room, pleading his case in that Scottish accent of his –who in the wastes had a freaking _accent_? "So what do you say, 2 million caps and I'll have everyone of your little brigade fully outfitted with the best weapons, ammunition, armour, and rations you can lay your hands on. You wouldn't want any of them to die now, would you, after fighting so hard to earn their freedom?" Crowley smiled, a pudgy, evil little grin; suave, of course –he was a businessman after all.

Jet smirked, a raised eyebrow aimed at the shorter man. "You know Crowley, you should probably buy me a drink before screwing me over. I know full well that what you're offering isn't worth 2 million caps," He paused to consider Crowley's words before making any rash decisions. "I'll give you 1.5 million for it." Again, Jet knew this was overpriced but he didn't have much of a choice, Crowley was the only merchant in the area willing to help his cause. That and the little man was a decent ally when you were on his good side.

Crowley paused, considering Jet's counter. The biggest problem Crowley had wasn't accepting payment or even negotiating the pay. Hell, Jet was a fairly honour-bound individual; Crowley doubted he'd have trouble leaving even if the deal went sour. The problem was, Crowley didn't have all the supplies he was promising per se. "It's the deal of a lifetime boy, and I'm not budging for much; 1.9 mil."

Crowley always pushed for the best and had quite the arsenal of options behind him. Jet just shook his head and laughed a little, "Alright, alright. 1.8 million, but that's as high as I'm going on this one." He didn't have to budge but he figured being in Crowley's good books was a better option right now than squabbling over money.

"Alright, you have yourself a deal." Crowley smiled and extended his hand to Jet for a strong shake. "But I want half of it upfront, and I mean now. Never know when you Union people are going to be wiped out. And seeing as how we're now business-partners in crime on this one, I have a tid bit of information that you may want to know about –travelling merchants _are_ the best source of intel you know. Crowley beamed, proud of his resources and connections, and took a moment to bask in his own awesomeness, in his opinion anyway.

Jet grinned and took the man's hand with a surprising amount of strength for his slender frame. He was a strong man but his physical strength was compacted into his current size, he figured, compared to some of the other men he'd seen, he should be at least three times the size he is now. "Half of it upfront, I'll get one of my guys to give it to you. Now what information are you getting at?" Something that Crowley thought might be useful to him? This was something he needed to know.

"It's Little Lamplight. My men were by there the other day, after finding Big Town destroyed by raiders. Any surviving children have been taken to Paradise Falls, the damn slavers took anyone and everything worth taking. And you can bet that there's going to be a nice kiddie auction coming up." Crowley drifted towards the door, "I expect the other half of my payment when I return with all the promised goods. Acquiring an arsenal that large takes time," '_And probably side contracts..._' Crowley thought to himself, but Jet didn't need to know the background work, just that he'd get his supplies. "I'll be back within a month, you just worry about your plan of attack."

Jet was hardly given a chance to react; he just nodded to Crowley about the money, telling someone to get it to him. "Yeah we'll have the rest of your money when we see the supplies." He let Crowley out the door, his body heating up with the rage that was consuming him.

"Little Lamplight?" he growled out, "The place where all those orphans live? Those GOD DAMN slavers!" Jet shouted, throwing anything that was on the table onto the floor with one sweep of his arm. He lifted his head, seething, glaring at Paradise Falls' location on his wall map. "They're fucking next." He snarled and headed out the door.

After leaving Jet's company and safely returning to his trade caravan Crowley stopped to take a long, deep breath and sigh of relief –that had gone better than he'd thought, now all he had to do was find someone stupid enough to do his dirty work. The rations were easy enough to come by, Crams and boxes of other packaged foods, and of course cigarettes and liquor, no raid is complete without them. The weapons weren't too hard, but in the plenitude of what he offered... Perhaps a trip to Evergreen Mills was in order, those raiders were real go-getters. And pretty dumb, but that wasn't worth mentioning, not to them anyway.

The return to Paradise Falls wasn't an easy one; the kids had zero stamina to speak of, and only the threat of imminent death and the thrumming current coursing through their slave collars seemed to keep them going -even then they had to drag the smaller ones part of the way. The trip back wasn't made an easier by Union scouts.

The damn group was half fugitive and half resistance and the slavers still didn't know what to think of them. Most didn't think of the Union as any kind of threat, they were escaped _slaves_ for crying out loud. They were used and broken, rendering them pretty much useless. So what if they united? What could a bunch of beaten and traumatized former slaves do? Others did find them to be a bit of a threat, what with the patrols they had and the ground they'd taken. With Jet leading the organization, there was a distinct air on the winds, like something was going to go down –and this something would be nothing to sneeze at.

For simplicity sake, Rufus and Chuck took a few long ways around, as it were, just to ensure the least of trouble. "You take 'em in for pay, I'm done with this." Rufus clapped Chuck on the shoulder and walked away, back toward his little corner of the slaver residence building –they lived a lot like raiders really, a small establishment set up in old pre-war buildings, bunks and mattresses all thrown in a few rooms for the majority of people to live in.

Chuck's internal monologue was something to the effect of 'Why me?' and 'It's always dumped on me,' but that is not particularly interesting. What _is_ interesting is the number of slaves that are just wandering around –all bound with shock collars. Chuck lead the kids passed the children's slave house, an old concrete building with very little to it. Just passed that was a converted theatre, now the home and base of Paradise Falls leader Bobby Singer.

Sam looked around at the place that would be his new home, his eyes large as he stumbled along behind the mungos. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to be a slave but what hope could he have? That Dean would show up? That his big brother would come out of nowhere and somehow magically get this collar off him without blowing his head up? He had nothing to hope for now, except maybe a merciful and kind owner.

"Good news and bad news, sir," Chuck started, leading the kids in to stand single file for appraisal.

"Well start with the good news ya idjit, you may not live through the bad news," Singer was always rough around the edges, and if you asked any of the men he worked with they'd tell you that it wasn't just the edges, he was rough pretty much all the way through. The general consensus was that Bobby was a former raider, which surprised no one because most of them were. But Bobby had one of those stories, the kind where it's a little different every time you tell it, and just a little bit grander.

"The good news is we managed to get four of the kids from Little Lamplight here in one piece," Chuck gestured to the kids in front of him. They were all exhausted, tired, dirty, and hungry. Typically the slavers liked to keep their captives in fairly decent condition –they needed to maintain resale value afterall. But the trip from Little Lamplight to Paradise Falls was a long one, and the longer they took to make it, the higher the chances of one of those collars going off and taking a child's head with it, and that was just messy.

"I can see that," Bobby retorted, unimpressed with Chuck's delivery of the obvious. "Even your good news ain't that impressive. So what's the bad news?"

"Uhh," Chuck looked around the room for something else to focus on, anything else to focus on, and he just prayed that this wouldn't be one of those 'shoot the messenger' moments. "It's about Big Town and Little Lamplight, they are both pretty much gone. From the looks of it, Big Town was annihilated by raiders, not a single lamplighter-turned-mungo left alive."

Sam's face went pale, his heart nearly stopped beating and for the first time in a long time he thought he'd be sick. Breathing came harshly to him but he held himself in check; the other kids needed to see someone being calm here. _'Dean's… Dean's dead? Dean... no. No this isn't happening.'_ He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw trembling as he clenched it shut.

"When Rufus and I found Little Lamplight it wasn't really any better –there was a vault at the back of the cave, and apparently there were supermutants on the other side and they kind of broke through... and killed everyone. These are the survivors." Chuck's bad news was extraordinarily bad news; majority of slave stock came from Big Town and occasionally Little Lamplight. Big Town had a population disorganized enough, and naive enough to capture easily and mould and manipulate easily. And every once in a while some of them would wander a little too far from town, and that was just fine with the slavers. Little Lamplight was a difficult target due almost entirely to the mayor- when walking down those tunnels you were a sitting duck to an angry boy and his assault rifle, and as much as the slavers would hate to admit it, the kid had good aim.

"Shit," Bobby dragged a hand over his scruffy beard and paused for a moment, contemplating what to do next –slavers never really spent a whole lot of time thinking about their future, they just sort of lived it day to day. This would put a bit of a hitch in that plan, but at least he had a reason to charge extra for the kids, afterall they were rare now. "Here's your compensation, 1000 per little one and a 1500 for the older one –he looks a lot healthier." Bobby doled out the 4500 caps and waived Chuck out, "And take these rugrats to the kid's pen."

Chuck smiled, counting out the caps, "Can do, sir." Chuck turned on the frightened lamplighters, "You heard the man, let's get a move on." Chuck ushered them out of the theatre and back the way they came to the cold and ominous looking concrete building. "Alright, home sweet home –now get your little asses in there." Chuck gave Sam a shove, the last in line to enter the building, and slammed the gate shut behind him, locking it up tight.

Sam flinched when he heard the gate shut, looking dismally up at his new surroundings. He didn't understand why this was happening, why he was even alive in such a disgusting world and what he had to live for anymore. Dean was dead; no one was coming for him. He wiped his eyes and shook his head, he had to find something. He had to find something to live for.

Once the slavers were out of sight and the tension dropped, Tommy burst into tears with the other small lamplighters. "This... *sniff* never woulda happened if Dean were still here..." Tommy sobbed out, remembering a safer time when everything was just ok, no slavers and no collars.

Sam looked up, the tears falling down his cheeks without much of a fuss. "If Dean…" he swallowed hard, if Dean were there with them he'd probably have stayed behind to fight the supermutants anyway. He would have left things up to Sam, when Dean didn't do something he left it up to Sam. _'This is what I'm supposed to do, I have to stay strong, Dean would want me to be. He'd tell me to be.'_ Sam put a hand on Tommy's shoulder and squeezed with a sympathetic smile, "If Dean were here still here he would tell us to stay calm and try to make the best of it. We'll figure it out, okay?"

Tommy looked up at Sam with awe in his eyes –he was starting to sound like Dean, like a leader would. He was Dean's little brother after all, he might even find a way to call Dean for help. Mungo or not, Dean was the best leader they'd ever had; strong, caring, and protective. Tommy nodded vigorously, "Ok, we'll figure it out together."

Sam smiled, "Atta boy, that's the spirit." He pat Tommy's shoulder firmly, reassuringly.

Charlie smiled a little; glad to see Sam was doing a bit better. He couldn't help but cry though; everything they knew was over now.

Sam frowned, "Charlie, stop crying…" he knew that he was still crying too but he wanted to try his best to stop the others.

"Hey there!" It was another child, one already in the pen. He was about Sam's age but a heck of a lot shorter. His hazel eyes shone with a sort of cheeriness despite the bleak and miserable atmosphere and he trotted over to the crying children, "No need to be so upset, it'll get better. Now come on, let's get you kids cleaned up and fed." He turned his head to look at Sam, "Give me a hand?"

Sam was surprised to see another kid; a new one that he'd never met before and had no previous relations with whatsoever. He felt a strange twinge in his body, eyes unable to pull away from the boy's somehow alluring frame. He blushed when he realized he'd been staring, and caught with tears streaking his cheeks. "Uh, yeah…" he looked at the little ones and ushered them along to follow the new boy.

Sam looked at him and looked away again, quickly trying to push the blush down. He knew he was two years away from being a mungo but that didn't mean he wasn't turning, he could feel the strange tingle in his groin and did his best to ignore it. "My name's Sam," he smiled at the other boy, "Thank you…" he trailed his words, hoping for the boy's name.

"Gabriel," the other boy supplied with a smile. "I've been here a while, and there's a few others. Not that many of us anymore –some pudgy guy came by here and bought three not that long ago." His nose scrunched up a little as he contemplated the thought of it, "I hope they'll be ok." Gabriel smiled at Sam again, and lead the four lamplighters to the far corner of the building, typically out of sight of the slavers who passed by the gate.

There were three other children there, the two boys appeared to be between the ages of twelve and fourteen, the other was a smaller girl who couldn't have been over eight years old. "This is Ruby, Zach, and Lucas," Gabriel introduced without being asked. He'd learned a long time back that kid's captured by slavers don't tend to talk on their own. Something about trauma.

"Zach and Ruby are cousins, their parents were living in Greyditch before they were killed by raiders. Some slavers who happened by the area picked them up. Honestly? It's probably for the better –they would've died alone in the wastes." Gabriel pat Zach on the head as he walked by to the shoddy refrigerator to get some food for Sam and the others. "That one's Lucas –he hasn't spoken a word to anyone since he got here three months ago. I don't really know what happened to him," Gabriel paused to think about it, then added as an afterthought, "I mean, how could I, right?"

Sam smiled and couldn't help a small laugh. He appreciated Gabriel's humour, that cheerful little smile and welcoming glint in his eyes. "I don't know how you possibly could," he agreed by saying, helping the other boy hand everything out.

"Thanks, Sam," Gabriel smiled back at him, "Although I am kind of curious as to who these three are." Gabriel turned to look at the three younger lamplighters, "And what are your names?"

"I'm Tommy, and this is Lilly and Charlie. We're like family, and we're all we've got," Tommy replied quickly so he could get back to his food.

"Tommmyyyyyy…" Charlie whined, pouting, "I wanted to tell him my name!"

"You'll get a chance to tell other people your name, Charlie." Sam pet his hair gently, "Don't sweat it."

Charlie nodded, "Thanks, Sam."

Everyone sat in a kind of silence that seemed accepting of the situation, not tense or uncomfortable really, just lacking purpose. Sam fiddled with his drink container, his thumb rubbing the side of it methodically. His eyes darted up to Gabriel every once in a while, taking in and memorizing his features. "We… uh…" Sam looked back down for a moment, collecting himself. He'd spoken to everyone in Little Lamplight a thousand times, how did he have a problem with it now? Dean and Bella were older than himself and he could speak to them, so it wasn't that Gabriel was close to his age or possibly older.

Sam swallowed and tried again, "We're from Little Lamplight, orphans and abandoned kids alike. We lived in a series of caves and caverns, a vault sealed way at the back." He shook his head as he remembered those awful moments, "The vault opened and a bunch of supermutants ran out, killing… everyone. I was near the front of the cave so I ran. The four of us are all that's left now."

For the first time since meeting him Gabriel didn't have a smile on his face. He really couldn't even bring himself to a share a sympathetic smile with Sam after hearing a story like that. "Supermutants are awful things, and to have them go up against a bunch of children, that's just not fair."

Sam gripped the container a little tighter, his chest aching as he recalled what Chuck had said, "When Lamplighters grew up and became mungos we'd move on to Big Town, two years ago that's where my brother went. I just heard Big Town was destroyed, everyone killed by raiders." He let out a sob as he took a breath, "I'm sorry, excuse me." Sam quickly stood and moved away from everyone else, finding a space to be alone.

Tommy watched Sam run from the room and looked over at Charlie, "Did he say that Dean's killed?"

Charlie looked up with frightened eyes, "I think so." He whispered quietly.

Gabriel pulled himself off the floor, "Alright kids, you play nice. I'm going to go have a chat with Sam. Everything's alright, we'll be right back." Gabriel hustled out of there and after Sam. There really weren't too many places he could go –they were kind of locked down.


	9. Chapter 7 Part 2

Chapter 7, Part 2

Gabriel ran the main floor twice looking for the depressingly departed lamplighter. '_Upstairs maybe?_' He couldn't have gotten far, and so long as no slaver up and sold him, he'd be in the building. "Sam?" Gabriel inquired, poking his head into yet another empty concrete room to find the older lamplighter sitting on the floor in the corner. "Hey there, do you mind if I join you?" Regardless of what Sam's answer might have been, Gabriel had already invited himself to the space next to Sam, sitting with him in a few moments of silence while figuring out what he should say.

Sam hugged his knees and sniveled, shaggy hair covering his face. He didn't know what to say to this boy, whether he should apologize for being sad or cling to him for support.

"I'm sorry about what happened to your brother," Gabriel put a hand on Sam's knee, hoping contact would help comfort him, show Sam that he's not alone. "But you should know there's nothing you could've done about it. You can take whatever time you need to, just remember that you're alive, and that's all he would've wanted." Gabriel knew he was walking a thin line, putting words in the mouth of a man he didn't even know, but he truly hoped that Sam wouldn't call him on that.

Sam barely heard the words from Gabriel's mouth, his mind focused in on the hand on his knee. He slowly looked over at it and sniffled once more, wiping his nose and trailing his gaze up Gabriel's arm. Neither of them knew what Dean would say, not really. Sam had no clue, but the fact that someone was willing to make contact with him, to touch him even a little; it made a difference.

He inched a little closer and leaned on Gabriel, clinging to the other teen's shirt and pressing his face into the boy's shoulder. Sam sobbed, "I'm sorry." His fingers gripping Gabriel tightly, "Please just… don't leave me."

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, _This guy barely knows me..._ Gabriel was aware that the other kids liked him, they took to him quite quickly –something to do with his upbeat attitude and sense of humour. But they never got quite _this_ attached, quite so fast.

As a change of subject, Gabriel figured he'd share a bit about himself, even though he was sort of disappointed that Sam hadn't asked earlier. "Me, I never grew up in Capital Wasteland, so a lot of what I've heard are just stories to me. I never saw a supermutant or a ghoul, I've been with these slavers ever since they pulled me from the vault." Gabriel wrinkled up his nose again, realizing that maybe he shouldn't be talking about vaults after what happened in Little Lamplight.

He shrugged, too little too late now, "I grew up in a vault, not one of those old destroyed ones that have nothing but corpses in them, but a proper working vault. We didn't mean to open it, we kind of all liked it in there. But the Wastelanders didn't agree with us being safely tucked away inside while they all suffered in the wastes. So they finally managed to pry it open and kill most of the inhabitants while raiding the place and pretty much moving in. It was horrible –a massacre, I'd never seen such brutality in my life. I ran when given the opportunity, and never looked back. The slaver's picked me up and brought me here and aside from the collar and the impending purchase, it's not that bad."

Sam wiped his eyes and nodded, "I'm sorry Gabriel, that's awful." He looked up with that dewy look, reaching up and wrapping his arms around the other boy. "I guess anyone here had a hard time… I shouldn't be so selfish."

"You're not being selfish, Sam," Gabriel assured him, petting a hand through the teen's hair, mentally commenting that he probably needed a cut. "...I'd explain how, but I'm not sure I can phrase it quite right." Gabriel crinkled his nose again, thinking about what to say, "anyway, you're allowed to be upset, and mourn the death of your brother. That's not selfish." Gabriel wrapped his other arm around Sam, pulling the other teen close to him, Sam seemed to find comfort in close contact.

Sam shuddered in Gabriel's arms, finding the other teen to be fairly strong, considering. He clenched his fingers in Gabriel's shirt and clung, he knew how odd it must be to someone that he'd just met, someone who had no obligations to help or comfort him. Maybe living on the outside wouldn't be so bad. Sam tried hard not to pay too much attention to the contact between them; his mungo urges were flaring again. He could feel a warm tingle between his legs followed by a strange pain. It was then that he noticed that pressed against Gabriel there was an extra bit of tension, part of him was sticking up and he wasn't sure he liked it or if he should be ashamed of it.

"I-I'm sorry Gabriel, I don't know what's wrong with me." Sam pulled back, a light blush on his cheeks.

"Wait, what? What're you sorry fo-" Gabriel watched Sam cover himself, arms immediately in his lap. "Oh." Gabriel reached a hand behind his head, casually scratching a nervous itch as he tried to figure out what to do next. Vault people were very technologically advance by wasteland standards, and growing up Gabriel had more than enough of books and education and learning. Apparently Little Lamplighters didn't. "So you're attracted to guys," Gabriel stated, trying to sound casual.

Sam blushed hardcore, hoping he'd shrink into nothingness at this point. He wasn't sure how he felt about Gabriel's tone, if it was demeaning or if he didn't care or what? It was hard to listen to. "Yeah… I guess I am?" It came out as a question because he had honestly put no thought into it. Then it dawned on him, what did this have to do with poking Gabriel? "Wait… what do you mean?"

"I mean it's like a dog's wagging tail when its happy, get it? I'm no expert but from what I know, it's natural, so you can calm down," maybe that was to-the-point enough –dragging it out just seemed torturous. "Anyway, it's not something most people, y'know, talk about. Not usually. And it's more of an adult thing, although you do have urges... everyone has urges... But I'm getting off topic, just don't think about it too much."

Sam felt a little worse, sure it was natural but he'd brought it up which made it awkward, which meant his first impression with Gabriel was just as bad. "Oh god I'm sorry…" he dropped his face into his hands, clenching his fingers around his hair and pulling. "I'm such an idiot…" He dropped his hands again and looked up at Gabriel pleadingly, "Please don't think I'm weird! I just don't know some things but I'll figure it out, I promise." _'Why am I so desperate for him to like me?'_

"What?" Gabriel was starting to feel like he was walking on a thin layer of ice on a pond with a bed full of landmines. '_Damn this kid is weird, he's gotta have like... six screws loose or something_.' Gabriel put his hands up as a gesture intending no harm and inched closer again, "Hey, you're stressed, ok? Don't worry about it. There's a lot of things that I don't know about the wastes –I mean hell, I came from a freaking vault. And you're... what, sixteen? You're allowed to have time to learn and stuff."

Sam sighed and hung his head, "Gabriel I'm sorry… How about…" He tried a more confident smile, looking up at Gabriel, "You tell me more about yourself? Or how it works around here."

"Yeah sure, if it'll help get your mind off of other things," Gabriel looked around the barren concrete walls for a while, mentally searching for something to talk about. "So... me. Yeah, my name's Gabriel and I grew up in a vault. The Overseer was an ass, and everyone else in the vault was stuck up prudes. I think we were descended from the wealthy first class in the pre-war era or something like that. Not that it mattered –everyone was 'equal' in the vault..." Gabriel trailed off, thinking about how disinteresting _that_ would be, "Anyway, that's a bunch of useless politics. I didn't have many friends growing up, but that's mostly because I used to play pranks on them... and their parents, and so ok, some of their pets may have died, but it was still funny." Gabriel smiled, a devious little smirk as he reflected on times passed. "Oh- and I _love_ sweets. My mom used to make the _best_ sweet rolls."

Sam relaxed, feeling better that he'd asked Gabriel questions that weren't as… odd. But at the same time he'd only ever read about sweets. "What do sweetrolls taste like?" He shrugged a little, "I mean, I've never had one so… If they're your favourite then I hope I get to try one sometime."

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, '_This guy is totally transparent about liking me... He has no idea how to flirt either_.' The thought had Gabriel laughing, and he clapped Sam on the shoulder, "You are one funny guy, you know that? You're just _hilarious_." Gabriel wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, "About sweetrolls... if we ever get out of here, find a nice place to settle down that has a functioning kitchen, I promise I'll try and make it for you."

Sam shrugged, not sure what was so funny about him. He was never the funny one back in Little Lamplight, that just wasn't the teacher's job. In fact it was his job to discourage it. "Thank you," he said with a smile, not sure what else to offer at that point. "I look forward to it." Though he doubted that he'd get to the point where they'd escape.

"No problem," Gabriel shrugged off the appreciation –he liked sweets, he'd be making them just as much for himself as he would be for Sam. "As for around here," Gabriel continued, pointedly making an effort to keep the conversation flowing, and Sam's mind off of darker thoughts, "I don't know much about it. I mean, it's all run by slavers. The head of the slave trade is an old gruff guy by the name of Bobby Singer –you've probably already met him. The rest are all grunts in it for the money. I usually try and listen in on what they're talking about, hopefully I'll get something useful out of it yet. Mostly there are slavers and slaves here, and the slavers sell the slaves for a profit to whoever wants us."

"Yeah…" Sam sighed, "I kind of figured that much." He crossed his arms, gathering his wits to the best of his ability, "So we listen to guards and try not to piss anyone off, huh? Sounds like it could be worse…"

"Exactly, and in the mean time they keep us at least somewhat fed so we're in good condition to turn a profit. The locked doors and many slavers make it impossible for us to be attacked by wasteland creatures too. Safe and fed, not that bad. It's just when the slavers decide to... 'sample' the merchandise that things get ugly –but don't think about that too much." Gabriel looked Sam over –he was looking less stressed and less nervous, and with his brow not knitted up in worry, he was actually kind of cute. "Go out with me," Gabriel looked Sam dead in the eye.

Sam almost missed the question, "What?" He stuttered, taken aback by the forwardness of this new teen he'd just met. Yeah, Sam realized that he'd been a little odd and tried to tell Gabriel he liked him but this was surprising. "You like me too? I mean…" He scratched the back of his head, "Yeah… Okay I'll go out with you." Sam knew that 'going out' in this sense mostly meant that they'd be there for one another since dating was basically impossible at this point.

"Perfect! We'll work well together, you with your... whatever it is you do and me and my know-how and upbeat attitude. Seeing small children depressed is just maddening –we'll keep them smiling, like a weird little family." Gabriel beamed, and true to his self-description he was bouncing from topic to topic with little time to dwell on the negative implications of any of them. "And of course I like you, you're very attractive and I love the hair. Now what do you say we get back to the others, they're probably all worried. Or at least Tommy, Charlie, and Lily will be."

Sam smiled and nodded, agreeing with Gabriel's idea fully. Even if he didn't have much of a part to play right now, he figured that maybe they'd still remember he was their teacher a while back and sort of hide behind him if necessary. "Of course, let's get back to them." Sam tentatively took the excitable boy's hand and, once approved, they walked back to the others, ready for their life in this dreadful place.


	10. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dean sat at the bazaar's bar, swallowing down the last bit of whiskey in the bottle while fixing a fierce gaze on nothing in particular. He _hated_ it, the way he and Cas were still _nothing_ to each other. He hated the way everything was so material –so _physical_. Dean knew Cas had a heart, a heart of gold –he'd seen it during his first few weeks with the raiders; from sparing his worthless life in Big Town to giving him a home in Evergreen Mills, and then there was the initiation and the occasional touch that was almost too tender. But Castiel had buried that nice guy somewhere with an unmarked grave in his own skull, and it drove Dean nuts.

"Hey, you gonna pay for that?" The raider barkeep broke Dean from his thoughts, and apparently it was for no damn good reason.

"Fuck you," Dean retorted in kind, "You think I'm so far out of my head that I forgot I already paid? You'd never part with a single bottle of your merchandise if you didn't have the caps in your hand first."

The barkeep only grinned, "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"Like fuck I can't." Dean took a quick step forward, chest out and arms up, but he decided to drop the matter –it was one bottle of whiskey for crying out loud. Or at least, the last one was –Dean sort of lost track of what the others (and how many others) there were.

Dean shuffled down the weaving passages of the cavern like the back of his hand –or it would've been, if he'd been seeing straight and walking straighter. Wandering eventually lead to finding his way to his and Castiel's room –they still shared, and to Dean that said something about the guy. "Cas?" Dean looked around and found no one, which he knew, because Cas was out on a raid. Instead Dean was greeted by a very enthusiastic 'woof' and braced himself for impact. Dogmeat jumped up, placing his paws on Dean's chest for balance trying hard to lick at Dean's face. "Ok, enough affection from you," Dean reached up and rubbed Dogmeat on the head, gently pushing the dog off him. With no Cas and little else to do, Dean dropped himself on the bed, kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his armour. Cas would be back tonight, and Dean didn't want to just _sleep_ through his first night back. But he would have to sleep off some of the drinking, and the bed rose up to meet him as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Castiel had been out for several days now; they'd ended up fighting other raiders over the stupidest shit he'd seen in a while. Cas stood among the bodies, looking at his comrades who hadn't fared as well as he did. Castiel was standing alone, by the time he'd managed to get the other raiding party off him; he realized that some of his team had ended up taking one another out. Somebody in the group had originally been on the other team and turned on them, which resulted in an all out fight to the death. Castiel was the lone survivor.

He looked at the mess of bodies and blood, his limbs shaking for a moment. He swallowed hard and clenched his fists in anger. "HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO CARRY ALL OF THIS SHIT BACK BY MYSELF!" He shouted, kicking several of the bodies, not caring who they were.

Days later he'd arrived back at Evergreen Mills, it was late but there were still raiders up and about. Long whistles dragged through the air as Cas entered and hauled his catch through the town. He'd roped many of the bodies together as a raft to put the heavier shit on top, tying the rest of the items to the limbs and hanging bits of the dead raiders. Cas had managed to drag all of his behind him back to Evergreen Mills, getting pretty much all the loot he'd set out for.

With a little extra help, Cas sold all the loot and headed for home. He opened the door loudly, not caring how late it was or if Dean was asleep. He shed his armour and clothing as he walked, dropping piece by piece on the floor. Once naked he washed up the best he was able and trudged to bed, dropping into it like a sack of lead. He groaned lightly and tugged the covers over himself, eyes slowly lifting to look at Dean. "You smell like a bar." He grumbled, pulling the blanket over his head.

"Yeah, and you're a neglectful blanket thief," Dean grabbed a fistful of the rough material and tore it away from Cas, uncovering the man's naked body. Dean was actually quite grateful that Cash was an inconsiderate bastard, or he may very well have slept right on through the night. Dean hefted himself off the mattress and onto Cas, throwing one leg over the raider's other hip and comfortably straddling the man. Dean's hands were on Castiel's chest to balance himself, his fingers splayed out over the scarred -and-healed surface of his skin. Dean moaned a little as he rolled his hips, seeking friction between them, and smiled suggestively.

"Neglectful how?" Cas grumbled, shivering slightly from the lack of cover. He felt cold after cleaning up, his skin prickling from the air he'd been exposed to. Dean's weight over him was welcomed, the touch of their skin heating him slightly. He was tired and not entirely in the mood to deal with a drunk Dean, though the hardened flesh pressed against him was starting to change his mind.

Dean leaned forward and trailed his tongue up Castiel's neck, exhaling a puff of warm air over his earlobe as he spoke, "Come on old man, you just going to take this lying down?" Dean rolled his hips again, his aching erection pressing against Castiel, urging him to act or react or something.

Cas sighed softly, a gentle shiver running down his spine from Dean's breath in his ear. "Call me old again and I'll kick your ass." He bucked his hips up to give a little friction, feeling a small wiggle start in his cock. "But that doesn't mean I'll let you get away with it the first time." He gripped Dean's shoulders and pulled him down against him then flipped the situation around, pinning Dean to the bed. He licked and nipped at the nape of Dean's neck, thrusting down playfully. He trailed kisses down Dean's chest, biting lightly at his nipple, moaning softly.

Dean let out a surprised sound, something similar to a 'yip' if you take Dogmeat's reactive ear twitch into account. The flip had been a bit of a surprise, but it was a welcome one, Dean was starting to think Cas may not want to _do anything_ after returning from a raid. Dean's back arched in response to Castiel's touches, trying to get Dean closer, groaning in reply to Castiel's treatment.

In all the times they'd done it, all the times Cas needed some release and fucked Dean senseless, this was the most gentle and slow. He was tired, too tired to be forceful, too tired to be angry but he knew what Dean liked. To help counter his slow and almost passionate moves, he pulled the knife out from under the mattress and smiled devilishly, hiding behind it. He was glad Dean was drunk; that he couldn't recognize this for what it looked like or felt like. "Hope you're ready to be punished, pretty boy." Cas said in his usual gravelly voice.

Dean's pupil's widened in reply, an almost pavlovic response. Punishment meant _pain_, and pain meant a damn good time. "Oh you better believe I'm ready," Dean panted back, his heart rate increasing with excitement and adrenaline.

Cas sliced into Dean's arms first, squeezing the wound to force the blood surface and let it run down Dean's arm.

Dean howled in pain, a pain infused with memories and pleasure. His first time was agonizing blur of bruises and wounds aching and unsalved, Castiel's rough hands and brutish ministrations eliciting the most novel and stimulating sensations Dean had ever known. His screams broke down to panted cries of pleasure in seconds, the initial sting giving way to the sluggish draining of blood as the wound began to clot, the feeling of broken skin sending shivers down Dean's spine.

Dogmeat jolted upright from his mat on the floor, immediately defensive of his favored master and growled at Castiel, his head low and ears flipped back.

Cas snarled back at the dog, something to the effect of 'you've seen us do this before so get over it.'

This 'torture' continued for almost an hour, small cuts here and there, half strangling and pinching too hard. Bruising Dean's skin and making the man bleed, Cas was a bit of a sadist to be sure but that had nothing on Dean's masochism.

Dean felt himself approaching the edge once more, having deliberately denied himself the pleasure of release twice already. His breathing quickened and his hips rolled forward again, inviting, catching on Cas' retreating blade. "_Cas..._' Dean mewled out, pleading with his tormentor for something _more_.

Cas knew when it was time and didn't hesitate to spread Dean's legs and push himself inside, deep and without prep. He grit his teeth, the foreskin on his dick being pushed back but he continued anyway. He didn't know why but tonight he decided to please Dean, he'd cut the guy up the way he liked it, bruised him, choked him, and nearly knocked him out on a few occasions. Now he was fucking Dean hard in the ass, pleasing his masochistic nature. Cas didn't know why but it felt good to do it, so he did.

Dean could easily be described as over stimulated by the time Castiel finally split him open, and despite his affiliation for pain, this sort of deep, intimate _hurt_ was still an agonizing sensation at the outset. Dean reflexively clenched down, unconsciously attempting to expel the cause of his discomfort before he was able to relax and lose himself to the fast and brutal rhythm Cas was setting. Intercourse itself was relatively short lived for Dean, coming hard after minutes of battering.

Cas groaned roughly as he shuddered into an orgasm, thrusting harsh and quick until he'd ridden it out, slowing down and laying on top of Dean in the mess. He was tired, too tired to be sleepy but not awake enough to do anything. So he just remained on top of Dean, at least until he was moved over.

Dean left Cas there for a good long while, collecting himself and coming back down. His bleary, half-drunk mind wandered back to his reason for getting smashed in the first place, his strictly physical relationship with Cas. Dean felt a hot sting behind his eyes as tears began to well up. He didn't cry over pain, not when he and Castiel did these things, but this bothered him more than he could describe. Dean shoved Castiel off of him to the bed to his side.

After having been nearly asleep on top of Dean, the sudden movement startled Cas, his eyes popping open very suddenly and a short gasp escaping him.

Dean choked out a sob before punching Castiel in the shoulder, "You know I hate you, right? You bastard..." That wasn't right, that's not what he meant to say at all. "You don't even care, do you? You don't even know how much a care about you, do you?" Dean spat out the questions for what they were: accusations.

Cas' face remained neutral as he listened, but he couldn't help but turn away, eyes closed as he took the verbal punishment.

"Ever since I met you it's always been about you! About being an individual and being a man and doing it yourself... Well guess what? I'm sick of it!" Dean whipped the pillow at Cas and pulled his knees up to his chest. He wanted to lash out, to prove his point in a way that Castiel would understand –with a fight, by beating it into his thick 'I'm-all-I've-got' skull. And at the same time he just wanted to disappear, draw into himself like a black hole and just vanish, to not have to live in the same house as the man he loved but not live _with_ the man he loved.

Dean's retreat into himself was cause for Castiel to sit up, discarding the pillow to the other side of the bed. He sat in silence; he knew what Dean was getting at. He knew the relationship they had and what he should be saying to his long-standing partner, how he should be treating Dean. But something about revealing feelings eluded him, scared him even.

"You're not alone, you know that right? You have me... you have since I met you. You could have me any way you want and I'd let you. I just..." How could he tell this blue-eyed demon that he loved him? After yelling at him and telling him he hated him, after adopting his life style and manning up, toughening up and surviving on his own like he had? It was all just too confusing.

Cas took a long, slow breath before saying anything. "Dean…" he started softly, carefully. "I know. I know how much you care, and I know that… I should never have continued to do this with you. You hate me and you should, I'm selfish and stubborn and I'd take advantage of you in a heartbeat." He knew this because he'd done it. "But watching my own back is all I've known, being alone is a given."

"What are you, dense? Are you retarded or something? I don't hate you! If you distrust people so much then why believe what I yell at you, when you know it's a lie!" Dean peered over at Cas, eyes narrowed and he almost ready to jump back at him, but the heat fell from his voice, and his shoulders slumped. "You do this because you like me, right? You want to do what I want..." Dean furrowed his brow, confused and trying to make sense of it, like many times before.

'_I do like him… What the hell is wrong with me? I can't afford to get close to…'_ Cas barely moved his head for a moment, just in case Dean would misinterpret any movement he made. He bit his bottom lip, letting it slip between his teeth then biting it again. _'But why is it that I can't afford it? Because I'll get hurt? Life won't let me? What point is there in doing anything if I'm not happy by the end of it? I should go for it… shouldn't I?'_

Castiel could feel his mental wall unwinding, dwindling and revealing him to Dean. He ran a hand up through his matted black hair, a gesture Dean would recognize from way back in Little Lamplight. The hard edge in Dean's eyes fell, memories of his little brother flooding his mind. How long had it been, two years? There was another two to go, but Dean didn't know if he could just leave Cas after everything.

"Dean I…" Cas shook his head, not looking at Dean. He cleared his throat, "Being a man means more than one thing, the first thing to know is that you have to be able to take care of yourself, handle yourself. This is only the first part to becoming a real man; the second is that you should be able to take care of others that need it… But no one follows that second rule anymore. It's left for stories and fairytales. Dean, people in today's time are fucked up," he looked dismal as he turned to face his partner, "And I'm one of them. I can't trust anyone as far as I can trust myself, and I don't trust myself in the slightest. How can I honestly trust you with anything that personal? That I 'have you' and could do anything I wanted? Dean that isn't a good thing, you have to be able to stand up to me, to stop me when I do things you don't agree with."

"You want me to stop you?" There was an absence of tone to Dean's voice, a suspicious edge like something creeping just beneath the surface. "Alright, I'll stop you. Right here and now, I'm stopping you," Dean's gaze was like a glaring hellfire, aimed right at Castiel. "If being a man means caring for others after taking care of yourself then I'm more of a man than you've ever been. I'm alive; I'm fed, sheltered, and still breathing. I have an ignorant boyfriend who gives me sex whenever I want it, as rough as I want it, and a pseudo family of badass mother fuckers with a tab at a bar. I'm one hundred percent taken care of, so now I'm going to take care of you." Dean stalked across the short gap between himself and Castiel, dropping down in front of the unstable raider and wrapped his arms around him in a giant hug.

At first Cas found himself shifting away as Dean approached, a small strike of fear as to what Dean was doing. Castiel had absentmindedly trusted Dean with his life, and possibly even his heart. The odd tone and then the strange words were enough to frighten Cas when Dean made a move; he had no idea what his partner was up to. Of course the hug made it clear. Cas took a quick breath, remained still in the hug though part of him desperately wanted to enjoy it, and then struggled a bit. "Who said I was your boyfriend?" He grumbled, ignoring another part of him that warmed up at the sound of it.

"I did, you son of a bitch. Just now." Dean spat back, sick of Castiel's attitude around the whole thing.

Two years can do wonders for a man's development, both mentally and physically. Dean wasn't the underfed, scrawny teen he was from Little Lamplight. The last two years of life as a raider fleshed him out and toughened him up, and his natural build was one meant for strength. He was tall (comparatively), taller than Cas, and somehow, while Cas wasn't looking, Dean had filled out a heck of a lot. His hold on Cas nearly dwarfed the older raider, making him look small in Dean's arms, and Dean's strength was more apparent to Castiel now than it had ever been, both of body and character.

Cas squirmed a little more but found that he couldn't wriggle free. He dropped his head against Dean's chest and inhaled what he was surprised to find was a pained breath. His chest ached, tightening up as he slowly lifted his arms up around Dean, pushing futilely to get away, refusing to acknowledge his own feelings. "Let go…" he whispered nearly inaudibly, muffled into the larger man's skin.

"No, Cas, I'm not letting go. I love you, ok? You can believe me if you want to, or you can throw it out the window," Dean grimaced at the thought and kissed Castiel on the cheek, "though i'd really rather you not." Dean touched his cheek to Castiel's and nuzzled against his throat, "I disagree with your definition of a man, of your fend-for-yourself attitude, so I'm going to stop you."

Cas was taken completely by surprise and shock when a hiccupped sob left his mouth instead of the intended 'fuck you' the rest of his brain was trying to say. The angry raider in him was squashed by the lonely man that had been crushed for so long. Castiel tried to get a hold of himself but it was no use, and instead of pushing away, his hands held tightly and pulled himself closer to Dean, taking in the warmth and comfort the hug gave him.

Dean smiled and relaxed, letting out a breath he'd held in while nervously waiting for Castiel's reply. He'd meant what he'd said, and he was strong about putting his foot down and letting Castiel know how he felt. But that didn't mean that Dean was unafraid, far from it. He was terrified that Castiel would reject him, call him out for being soft and god knows what else. To see this side of Castiel was more than Dean could ever have asked for, more than he could ever have hoped for, and Dean doubled his efforts to try and convey just how much this meant to him –but channeling feelings through hugs rarely works so well. Dean leaned his head down and planted a chaste kiss to Cas' forehead before resting his jaw on his head.

Castiel cried for a few minutes, he couldn't begin to explain it but inevitably let it happen. He rested against Dean in silence when he managed to pull himself together, listening to Dean's heartbeat. "I love you too." He said quietly, lifting his head to look at Dean better. "I just… don't know how to show it."

Dean grinned, his smile stretching from ear to ear, "You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that." Dean kissed Castiel again, and loosened the hug, backing up enough to get a better look at Castiel. "You'll learn with time, and I think I can be patient enough to wait for you." Dean gave Cas a sarcastic smirk, trying now to lighten the mood. He'd taken Cas apart –finally, and now Dean was left with the delicate task of protecting those fragile insides while rebuilding him. Over-stressing Cas on the first day was probably not a good idea.

Cas smiled back, this time it was softer, lacking the usual cynical sneer and hardened look. "Thank you, Dean." He looked away with a bit of a laugh, "I can't believe I'm doing this…" in a swift motion he pointed up at Dean, poking his nose playfully, "I still get top, you got it?" He chuckled.

"Alright, I'll let you keep thinking that," Dean grinned back, "but there's a reason you felt the need to say that, even though I never even _touched_ the subject."

Cas sneered at him; "Don't push your luck, kid." He said in his best raider voice.

Dogmeat barked loudly and jumped into the bed with them, going straight for Cas' face. The blue-eyed raider instinctively reached up to push the animal back but found that Dogmeat was licking him instead. "Wha? Hey…" he smiled a little, "This mean you like me now?" Dogmeat growled low like he usually did, a threat is how Cas often heard it. "What the fuck then?" He shooed Dogmeat away who promptly hopped down, licking Dean's hand as he left. "Fucking dog…" Cas grumbled.

Dean couldn't help but laugh, "We've got a nice little family here." He reached over and pet Dogmeat on the head, "And I meant to include you in my little speech about taking care of myself, I really did." Dean couldn't help but wonder if it bugged Cas that he talked to the dog, but shrugged off the thought. Dean turned to kiss Cas again, passionate but gentle.

Cas returned the kiss a little hesitantly, not sure what was expected of him. Then he narrowed his eyes, realizing that it didn't matter what was expected of him, he could act like himself and that should be good enough. "You know he's just a dog right? He can't understand you." Cas kissed Dean again, starting to really like the gentler motion.

"Pfft, he seems to understand me well enough when I tell him to go find chems, or guns, or ammunition," Dean smirked and continued with the list, "or caps, or food. He has a pretty big vocabulary of human words in that furry head of his. And he understands me when I tell him to attack you."

"You get him to do that and I cut your…. Well I like those, so I'll figure out what I'll cut off but watch it." He chuckled and kissed Dean's cheek playfully.

Dean smiled again, or was it 'still'? Dean wasn't even sure he'd stopped smiling, "Let's lie down, you've got to be exhausted and I've had a long-ass day of doing nothing. We both deserve the rest."

"You're an ass," Cas smiled and snuggled down with Dean, his arms wrapped around his partner's torso tightly. His heart beat quickly, excitement making it flutter before his body finally shut down and forced him to sleep.

"You wouldn't love me nearly as much if I wasn't," Dean murmured in reply, yawning before dozing off into a much needed sleep.


	11. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Several slavers were gathered round the entrance of Singer's theatre for the announcement. Now, slavers have never been keen on politics or government, but public assembly in this sense was sort of urgent: slavers may or may not have to pay attention to Union demands. Rumour had it that Jet, the current leader of the slaves Union, had been making advances into slaver territory. Where possible he was disarming slave collars with a 75% success rate and his followers were growing in number.

"We've all been ignorin' this situation for a little too long," Bobby started off the unofficial meeting with his typical good mood in the most sarcastic of the sense. "Y'all know what I'm talkin' about: Jet." The crowd of slavers began to murmur, some of them chuckling, evidently not convinced of the threat that the Union posed to Paradise Falls, others muttered there agreement in raising the issue. "Would you shut up for one goddamn minute?" Bobby scolded the crowd, shaking his head.

"It's become abundantly clear that Jet means to make war with us. Him, and his gang of un-collared slaves have already taken Lincoln Memorial. Now I know that's old news, but that right there was a turning point in their morale. They've been trainin' up, practicing and holding their ground. We've been ignorin' up, letting them get their hopes up. They're good and cocky now, and I'm figruin' that it won't be too long until they stage a full on assault." Bobby swept his gaze over the crowd, and most of the slavers had fallen silent. Most of them had already known this was coming, but without public assent they were able to shrug it off, dismiss it as a slaves fairytale. Jet was becoming like a freaking Peter Pan of slaves, and it kind of unnerved most of the slaver community.

"Are you suggestin' that we strike first?" It was Rufus –he was always the first to speak up, and usually the first to charge it. "They ain't much of a threat against us, at least I don't figure 'em to be. They'll be too scared, most of 'em can't even look at another person straight."

"And fight 'em on their turf? What kind of idjit are you?" Bobby retorted, eyes rolling on the principle of it alone.

"I'm jus' saying that it's an option," Rufus shrugged it off, but he wouldn't let the matter lie, "And what are you suggesting? That we just wait for it?"

"That's exactly what we're gonna do. I don' want no fool-hardy idjits running in there and gettin' themselves killed. We're stronger together, even if you don't want to admit that we're 'together', you get me? The less people we got dead when they come in at us the better. I don't want anyone underestimating these guys –_especially_ Jet." There was an eerie silence among the crowd, because they all knew exactly what Bobby was talking about. Not too long back a group of slavers were returning from their rounds around the wastes near rivet city, and their return trip brought them near Lincoln Memorial; and the only reason that story was passed around was because one of the slaver party made it back alive, although most suspected that this was an intentional message from Jet.

After the crowd dispersed in a particularly sour mood, Chuck caught up with Rufus with the suspicious notion that he was up to no good. "What're you thinking?" Chuck inquired, barely above a whisper.

"What makes you think I'm thinkin' anything'," Rufus gruffly replied, kicking a rusted out old car on his way by.

"Because you're _always_ thinking something; you're not thinking of going after Jet, are you?" Chuck knew that's exactly what Rufus would do because that was exactly what Rufus was like –tell him one thing and he'll do his damndest to achieve the opposite.

Rufus just grunted his reply, a non-committal sort of sound, "And if I am? Would you want in on it or zero knowledge of it, like the rest of these cowards?" And if _that_ wasn't a loaded question.

Chuck sighed and looked around the grounds, "Alright, I'm in. What kind of crazy plan are you making?"

"We sneak in, at night, and we kill Jet. If the fearsome leader falls, the rest will be lost. He's the only reason they've got hope in the first place." Chuck could see from the look on Rufus' face that he wasn't messing around. It sounded like suicide, walking right up to the foot of Jet's bed, but if they could manage it, maybe Rufus had a point –the slaves might give up the fight, and their organization would definitely fall apart without the head.

"This is going to be a long day," Chuck groaned and –resigned to his fate, headed toward his shack to suit up for the trip. "I'll see you at the gates in an hour, I guess."

Jet strolled down the halls of Lincoln Memorial, smiling to himself at how well things had been going lately. Not only were the slavers not retaliating, they were completely ignoring them! Just leaving them and letting them do whatever they pleased, Jet knew the reason; the slavers had underestimated them. _'It doesn't matter if they fight back now, it's too late.'_ What the slavers didn't know was that Jet didn't just have old slaves working with him, he'd accumulated others who were against the trade. Others who had lost loved ones to those damned slave collars. They had an army-sized group waiting in the wings. Jet wasn't going to go out of his way to let the slavers know this, but he wasn't hiding it either. It was too late for the slavers to fear them now, too late to retaliate. Jet was ready.

He went to his room and stretched, fingers intertwined as he pulled the muscles in his shoulders then dropped his arms to his sides, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. "Ffff…" he exhaled casually, dropping into his bed and rolling onto his side. It was quiet in his room, peaceful and all around nice. Jet didn't like it.

About twenty minutes later Jet was breathing lightly, eyes closed and chest rising and falling gently. It was then that Rufus motioned for Chuck to move in with him, they'd managed to sneak in past everyone else in the base, with much trouble but after watching the general pattern of the guards Rufus found a way.

Chuck inhaled as quietly as he could, inching closer to Jet's bed. He couldn't believe they were literally at Jet's bedside, going to shoot him in his sleep.

Of course it'd never be that simple. Jet smiled, his grin wide and cocky, "Hold on there, boys." He sat up, leaning forward on his knees. "Let's not end the fun so quickly."

Chuck panicked and backed away, Rufus lifted his rifle instead. Before either of them could get a shot off, Jet was up and coming at them, his side grazed by a bullet but that didn't stop him.

The rest of the Union came running after the shot, or at least the ones in the immediate vicinity. Long-Shot ran down the hallway toward Jet's room, as he closed in a loud and shrill scream shattered the rest of the quiet night. He slammed the door open, eyes wide as he called inside, "Jet!" He was met with the sight of two dead slavers, shot repeated and possibly excessively, and Jet standing over them.

Dark brown eyes shot up, another smile spreading over his lips, "Hey," Jet gave a small wave, "Mind getting these two out of here?" He reached over to his side and checked it, bringing his fingers back around to look at the glistening blood decorating the tips. "Damn… Alright, well I'll go see Anna to get patched up." He walked out, patting his buddy on the shoulder as he went.

Long-Shot stared down at the two slavers, the gear they'd taken with them and how they'd snuck past everyone… And Jet took them down on his own? He laughed and nodded, doing exactly as Jet wanted. It'd be stupid not to.

Jet frowned as he walked, brow furrowed as a growl rumbled in his throat. His walk turned into more of a stalk as he headed down to the guards for that night, he'd been hurt and someone had to know it was their fault. He would hurt them of course, but putting some guilt into them wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Cas, get your ass outta bed," Dean kicked at the mattress, motioning for Dogmeat to jump on the bed.

Castiel wiggled away from Dogmeat and groaned negatively that sounded something like 'Nuh uh' but it was tough to be sure.

"You're gonna regret not listening to me the first time." Dean motioned the go ahead for Dogmeat, and that's all the dog needed before jumping onto Castiel's immobile form.

Cas flailed, "GAHH! Fuck Dean!" he shoved Dogmeat, "Get your damn dog off of me!" He frowned as he sat up, hair messy and eyes tired. "What? Why am I up?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at Cas, "There's a merchant outside of town, looking for some raiders to do a job for him. No one's letting him into town, but he's fairly adamant about a nice payout. People are calling him 'Crowley,' and they say you can't trust him. But raiders say that about damn near everything and everyone." Dean squatted next to Cas, smirking and the disgruntled expression, "So what do you say? Care for a little risky adventure?"

Cas stuck his tongue out at Dean and flopped back into the bed, a few seconds ticked by before he sat up again with wide eyes. "Wait, Crowley?" He laughed a little, "For real? He's looking for raiders?" Cas flew out of bed and pulled his clothes on, "Come on, come on!" He called excitedly as he booked it out the door in no time flat.

"Whoa, whoa!" Dean side stepped Castiel's charge, and followed the raider with his befuddled gaze as he ran down the corridors beneath Evergreen Mills, "What? Hey! Wait up!" Dean tossed Dogmeat some radroach meat before taking off after Cas. "What's the big deal with Crowley?"

"I've worked for him once before," Cas explained, looking at his boyfriend who'd caught up faster than he'd expected. "A long time back when I was still starting out, he pulled some shady crap with the lead raider but I loved what he did. That raider was an idiot for not seeing it coming, Crowley's a genius and when _he_ says big payout I can't imagine what it is."

"The other raiders figured they knew what it was –a _lie_. But if you say this is good, then I'm game," Dean walked alongside Cas to Evergreen's main entrance, questions bubbling in his mind about Castiel's past. It had never occurred to Dean how little he knew about Cas –about where he came from, who his family was, what his history as a raider was like. All Dean knew was that Castiel was one badass motherfucker with a heart of gold. He'd have to ask him sometime.

Castiel spotted the short man out in the distance and booked it over to him, "Crowley," Cas smiled, barely out of breath if at all. "I hear you're looking for raiders, what's the job?"

Crowley had been waiting patiently outside the perimeter of Evergreen Mill's having a long distance stare off against a raider with a sniper rifle watching from the entrance. He'd expected a slightly warmer welcome, he'd at least hoped to make it _inside_, but all-in-all the lack of hospitality wasn't much of a surprise. Raiders were so _straight forward_ with their dealings –if you wanted someone dead you were much better off befriending them and giving them a shot of good scotch, or so Crowley figured –they never saw you coming.

Seeing Castiel was more of a surprise than Crowley cared to admit –he was certain that the young blue-eyed raider he'd worked with all those years ago would be well and dead by now, but no one ever said he couldn't be wrong. "Hey there, long time no see," Crowley replied smoothly, stalling for time while he tried to recall this man's name, what good was a businessman if he couldn't remember one goddamn name? "Castiel, was it?" And once you remember the name –don't let them think that they're special.

Cas nodded, "You remembered the name of a scrawny raider in a party of men that mostly died, I'm impressed. Sharp as ever." As nice as greetings were, Cas really wanted to get to the good stuff.

"Well ducky, I've come upon a rather good deal with a rebel group to the north east of here – 1 million caps, and I'll split it with you three ways if you help me." They didn't need to know about the other 800,000, they were raiders, and raiders hardly had more than a couple thousand caps at any given time. In all honesty, Crowley had figured he'd need a bigger raiding party, but he remembered Castiel's tenacity, and he could probably get away with two.

Cas managed to keep his expression calm as he heard the numbers, "A million caps? What job do you think would be worth dishing that much out? Don't get me wrong, we're in." he motioned toward Dean as he spoke, "I wouldn't pass it up, but what do you need us to do?"

Dean let Castiel deal with the Scottish Wasteleander –he had learned raider ways, but real world values eluded him. For all Dean knew he'd come across far too excited and a crass businessman would probably exploit that.

"All you have to do is protect my delicate ass on a trip just north of here to an abandoned factory to collect the promised supplies and we'll be on our way back to Lincoln Memorial before you know it," Crowley smiled, and wondered just how many half truths he could get away with. The factory was north of here –pretty damn far north, but still north. And by 'protection' he meant human shields for the immense Deathclaw population, but the devil's in the details as they always say.

Castiel was a lot of things but stupid wasn't one of them. He knew Crowley enough from that last time to know that trusting him blindly was retarded and you'd get your ass handed to you, or your head. He also knew that north of them had already be scavenged pretty well, you'd have to go much further to get anything worth anything and that was Deathclaw territory. So protecting Crowley was one thing, protecting him from Deathclaws would be difficult as hell, and at the same time carrying a bunch of supplies off to Lincoln Memorial to top it off? Definitely sounded like a 1 million caps kinda job.

Dean's eyes darted to Castiel, hoping like hell the man would say no. North of Evergreen Mills was Little Lamplight –Dean's hometown so to speak. He'd explored the area himself on several occasions, as a scout point on an expedition, and as a scavenger while under Balthazar's rule, and then again as mayor himself. One of the scouts had been left behind on a routine check, and Dean wouldn't stand for it and went back for him. Not only were there Deathclaws to the north –there was Deathclaw Sanctuary. It was a little further west, but the area wasn't just populated with the creatures, it was overrun. Dean had found Jimmy dead –torn to shreds by claws that must've been as long as a grown man's forearm. It had been terrifying, and raider or no raider, he didn't really want to return that way.

"Alright, Dean and I will take you." Cas said first, lifting a hand to pause any celebratory comments Crowley might have, "However, considering we're the only ones in Evergreen Mills that plan on dealing with you and I'm guessing you've already checked with other raiders, I want three quarters of the million caps, and some of it paid upfront." He knew 'protecting Crowley' was part of the deal but they'd still be escorting him and that was at least worth something. "That's how it'll be or you're on your own." Cas knew Crowley to be the lying, conniving type, he admired the fact that the man could outsmart so many people but Castiel didn't plan on being one of the outsmarted.

"A minute," Crowley lifted his left hand and counted off imaginary numbers, determining the profit. He needed the raiders to be indebted enough that they wouldn't just turn tail and run part way through, so if a higher payout did that all the better. Being left in the middle of a Deathclaw nest while your escorts flipped you the bird and took off wasn't the best of scenarios. Three quarters upped Castiel's and Dean's combined share from 0.66 million to 0.75, which Crowley supposed for him was a real bargain –Castiel increased his pay by almost 100,000 caps with that proposition. But it still left Crowley with .25 and the unspoken 800,000; a total of 1,050,000 caps in all for him alone. Crowley pulled a bit of a face, like he didn't want to give it to Castiel –and honestly he didn't, and then 'folded.' "Alright, you have yourself a deal –you two get a total of 750,000 caps for your services _start_ to _finish_. I haven't been paid yet either, but out of the goodness of my heart I'll pony up my own hard earned caps to bring you on board." Crowley retrieved a coin purse from his merchant caravan and tossed it to Castiel. "250,000 upfront, a full third of your total pay. Now grab your bags and meet me back here, I don't like to be kept waiting."

Once the deal was made, Castiel shook Crowley's hand, glanced over at Dean and grinned, Cas had no idea about the extra 800,000 caps that Crowley hadn't spoke of, was quite pleased with his dealing, assuming Dean was too. He looked back at the shorter man, "You got it." He said with a laugh, turning and trotting back to Evergreen Mills. "Alright, let's get a move on then." This time the words directed toward Dean.

On the walk back to their home, Dean reached out and roughly grabbed Castiel's arm, "Are you insane? You know what's up there, right? _Deathclaws_. Thousands of them. You're going to get us _killed_!" Dean's eyes darted back and forth between Castiel's, wide with fear. "Is the money really worth our lives, I mean sure we'd be set for life... We could probably even afford a place at Tenpenny's," and Dean had to stop and admit that that _would_ be nice.

"Dean," Cas sighed, "I know what's there, I know that there are a lot of them, and yes, I think the money is worth it." He glanced at his partner, "But at the same time, in this world where there's nothing to look forward to at the end of it all, I think a little excitement is in order." Cas looked ahead again, "Don't get me wrong, you're here and I really like that. But regardless, when I die I want to have done things no one else had the balls to do, or were too smart to do, either way I want to do it."

Dean knew what Cas meant, and he knew that Cas had tried to spare his feelings on the matter; and Dean knew that Castiel was honest about it, he loved Dean –though it wouldn't kill him to say so every now and again- and he didn't mean to undervalue that. But Dean still couldn't help the betrayed feelings from welling up, "You know that's a really selfish way of thinking." Dean had to point it out, keeping silent on the matter may literally kill him. "I'm all for the excitement and adventure, don't get me wrong on that. But you have a real reckless attitude about it. Where's your sense of survival? You talking like that isn't any different than suicide talk, and that's just fucking self-centered. What about the people who care about you?"

"Old habits are hard to break, Dean." Cas snapped back, his voice a low growl, "Until you there was no one who cared about me, who the hell was I supposed to consider? It keeps my mind off the fact that I can't… I can't give you anything." His anger diminished slightly, "A nice place to stay, safety, or even a promise that I won't be killed in the next five minutes. I can't give that to you and I'd rather not think about it. And I know, before you interrupt me, going out to fight Deathclaws won't help the 'possibly die in 5 minutes' problem. But it's Crowley, which means, if you're on his good side, you have a better chance at that 'nice place/safety' deal." Cas sighed and glanced back again, "And besides, having survival instincts can often clash with raider instincts. A good reward is a good reward."

Dean wanted to point out that Cas was doing that one-man-army thing again, being tough was better than being sensible, but with the underlying hurt in Castiel's words, Dean just couldn't bring himself to do it. "I'm sorry Cas, I just don't want to lose you, alright?" Dean sighed, all the heat leaving his voice, "You don't have to give me anything, you know. I don't expect anything from you but you yourself, that's why I don't want you dead."

With everything packed, Dean made a quick double check of their home, "All right Dogmeat, you ready to go? Huh? You ready to go?" Dean clapped his hands together, riling the dog up. "We can take him with, right Cas?"

[Cas says no, but I needed to segue way back into what we already wrote.]

Cas had warned Dean to leave Dogmeat at home, protecting Crowley would be hard enough without having to worry that something was eating their pet. Before leaving Evergreen Mills Cas had double checked with other raiders to see if they wanted in on it, of course after hearing how much it was they wanted to join and just as quickly backed out after finding out who the client was. All in all it would be only Castiel, Dean, and Crowley travelling through the wastes, guns in hand and eyes peeled.

Crowley waited patiently in his caravan for his hired help to return. It would bother him that he didn't know the younger raider's name, but Crowley didn't really believe that they'd make it through the Deathclaws and back to Lincoln Memorial with a zero mortality rate. He smiled out at the raiders as he saw them approaching, "Are we all set then?"

Cas nodded, then motioned toward Crowley as he looked at his partner, "Dean, this is Crowley. Crowley, my partner Dean." Cas started walking, knowing that staying in the caravan would be asking for trouble. They were there to defend it, therefore he and Dean would be trailing along beside it.

"So what do you need to get supplies to Lincoln Memorial for?" Cas offered a conversational piece to lighten the mood as they neared Deathclaw territory. "I've heard about the Union, any of those rumours true?"

"Undoubtedly true, and in no small part thanks to yours truly," Crowley gestured vaguely to himself, slightly proud of his involvements. "The Union is named after 'The Temple of the Union' their first base camp they started in was an old church. It's led by a former slave known only as 'Jet.' Lots of jokes about him being a chem addict –though speculation seems to be that he was the son of one, or bought by one. He doesn't touch the stuff himself. He's a tyrant though," Crowley looked Castiel more directly in the eye, the better communicate the depth of that thought. "You should hear it among my merchants –none of 'em'll go near him. He just puts _the fear_ in you, if you know what I mean."

Cas nodded, looking up into the caravan. "So this Jet is a menace for slavers, eh? Makes me glad I'm not a slaver." Castiel had heard rumours about Jet, too many to really get more information on all of them. However each story had at least one point in common: Jet was a tough son of a bitch. He'd been shot several times and still managed to kill his opponents, didn't go down after numerous blows to the head, and survived a few grenades. Cas wasn't sure if these stories happened in the same area or if they were all separate. Regardless, he didn't really feel like getting involved with that skirmish.

"Anyway, Jet started with a small group of escaped slaves, trying to get word out to others that there was a safe haven for them to go to for help. Once a slave always a slave, and most people in the town you were owned in will report you to your owner. You don't have a choice but to leave. The more that flocked to Jet, the greater his numbers. He started arming them, giving them rifles and ammunition –giving them a cause. They took Lincoln Memorial as a testament to freedom and anti-slavery. Now he's aiming to annihilate Paradise Falls." Crowley chuckled, "Those slavers are so done for; if I were a betting man I'd place my life savings on Jet's group of slaves. And it serves them all right after they cleared out Little Lamplight."

Dean reeled, "They did _**what?**_" His mind was racing: when did that happen? What did they do to Little Lamplight? Was Sammy still alive, was he ok? Did they capture him, was he already sold?

"Woah! Don't get your knickers in a knot!" Crowley dusted off the shoulders of his suit, as though Dean's aggressive affront were a physical manifestation. "Well, there was a supermutant attack, as I hear it. The survivors were picked up by a couple of slavers who were looking to pick off a few of the kiddies themselves. Nothing's left of 'em, and after Big Town went down –well, that's an entire culture gone. But to stir the fires, I told Jet that the slavers did it –got him good and riled up."

"Oh god," Dean's face fell, as did his heart in his chest. What were the chances that Sam was even alive? His own brother was _dead_ for all he knew, and there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn't even _known_, and Little Lamplight wasn't even that far away from Evergreen Mills. No, he couldn't believe that Sam was dead, not without checking Paradise Falls first –he could be enslaved, he could still be alive. Dean's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening, "Cas, after we're done this raid we're going to Lincoln Memorial –I want to meet this Jet guy. I want to destroy Paradise Falls."

Castiel glanced at Dean, knowing full well he came from Little Lamplight to begin with, that he'd been kicked out and that he was the mayor before he left. But Cas didn't understand why Dean was so pissed off. In all the time they'd spent together, Dean had never mentioned any real reason to go back, he barely talked about the place other than referencing how he got the skills he had. "Why would you want to get involved in all of that?" Cas raised an eyebrow, "It's got nothing to do with us, we don't have anything to gain from helping this Jet guy or helping the slavers. Give me one good reason."

"Because I'm reckless?" Dean shot back, not really a question, "There are several good reasons, one being that if you want to be part of something big then wiping out an entire sector of the economy in relation to a human rights movement is one sure fire way to do it –not to mention the inevitable size of a battle like that, it'll be legendary." Dean glowered at the path ahead of him, eyes narrow and fixed on the horizon, "But I need to do this. I had family in Little Lamplight, a little brother named Sam. I never mentioned him because... well, because I didn't put it past the other raiders to go out and catch him, use him as leverage against me." Dean looked over at Cas, eyes pleading, "I need to know if he's still alive. And if not... if not, I'm going to kill every last slaver I see."

Cas fumed for a moment, he didn't take well to being yelled at, "Okay, first things first, you should have said that last part before the rest of it, or left the first part out. Second," he shifted around to face Dean and gave a solid punch to Dean's gut, letting his partner fall hunched forward into his arms, "That was for not telling me. And this," he wrapped his arms around Dean and held him close, hand running up the back of his neck and into his hair to hold his head there. "Is because I'm sorry." Cas whispered, staying there for a moment.

Dean stayed frozen in Castiel's arms for several prolonged moments, not entirely sure if it was due to the shock at Castiel's outburst or something else entirely. "Cas..." Dean's voice broke and his vision began to blur. He returned Castiel's hug, squeezing tightly and burying his face in the elder raider's chest.

"I'm really sorry," Cas repeated, petting Dean's hair. He knew full well that Sam was not alright, no one left in a supermutant infested hole would be, and even if he'd been taken by the slavers then he'd been taken for a ride more than once by now. Dean's little brother would not be the same if he'd survived, and part of Castiel hoped that the boy hadn't. "We'll go." He said hesitantly, "I won't let you do it alone."

Dean nodded quickly, "Thank you, Cas." Dean took a deep breath to steady himself –they had a job to do _now_, and the slavers could wait.

It wasn't long before the first Deathclaw approached; Cas wouldn't mistake that hunched back or those claws for anything. "Dean, you've never seen one of these so listen up," Cas said as he lifted his gun immediately, "They're fast, they're resilient, and they are fucking strong. If you get into close quarter combat you're in serious trouble. They run in packs of 8 to 20, look out for the different kinds." He'd already let off a few shots but of course the 9 foot beast was far from beaten.

"I know what they are," Dean growled, in the perfect mood to kill something. He even considered getting too close on purpose –his hazel-green eyes focused on the twelve inch claws of the approaching creature. They were sharp and deadly –the creature's namesake, and Dean wondered for a brief moment what it would feel like to get cut open by one of those. But if there would be a lot of them, and he had a mission to do, he didn't want to risk it. He needed to keep himself fin one piece so he could find Sam.

Dean switched out his assault rifle for something more appropriated for Deathclaws: the combat shotgun. The rounds from the shotgun cause more damage than full streams of 10mm bullets, and the loud gunshot that accompanied them was far more satisfying. Several shots to the creature's head and torso had it down before it even had a chance to cause damage, Deathclaws only had melee assaults and firearms put them at a bit of a disadvantage. Dean lowered the shotgun and looked back at the other two, "Let's keep going. I want this done as fast as possible."

Cas didn't even bother nodding or giving a compliment at this point, Dean was right; they needed to do this quickly. Drawing it out would only lower their energy levels, which would leave them at a disadvantage; there were way too many Deathclaws out there.

Getting to the old factory wasn't as hard as getting the caravan to the factory –the roads were old, weathered, and more or less destroyed. They ended up leaving it several yards outside the factory door, and Crowley damn near mourned leaving it behind, but he wouldn't be left out alone just in case something came up.

Crowley walked up to the building's front with the boys, pointedly a step behind them, "This place used to produce power armor en mass, not to mention energy pistols and rifles. We're here to collect as many of said items as possible. And don't forget the energy cells and microfusion cells to power them. There are a few of these in the wastes, but not like what you'll find here. And I happen to know that the Brotherhood hasn't been here yet, so this very abandoned factory is known only to us at the moment. I suggest we make this quick."

With a grin, Castiel led the way inside. He had a certain itch for things that hadn't been discovered yet, like back in the secret vault. Opening the door was sort of a horrific moment; Cas stared directly into the face of a Deathclaw, just lurking inside the building. He jumped backward with as much strength as his legs could muster, just in time to be grazed by one of those massive claws.

There were others just beyond the door, temporarily stunned by the unexpected and sudden brightening of the room. All head's turned on the entrance where the first Deathclaw made it's attack, their beady yellow eyes emitting an eerie glow in the shadows of the factory. The thin leathery upper lips of the beasts curled back in a vicious snarl, revealing rows of pointed yellowed teeth. There were three more in total, and the quick shuffling of clawed feet across the dusty factory floor was an almost ominous experience.

Cas shuffled backward quickly, the thing thrashing down at him as it bolted out of the building. He was managing to escape anything serious but he'd still been cut deep into his armor. Cas took a split second to aim his gun up into the thing's mouth and shoot it several times, blowing its head clean off. He gulped in air, frozen for a second as he looked down at the claw hooked into armor above his belly, he could feel the tip of it pressing sharply against his skin. Cas kicked the thing off of him and went at the rest of the Deathclaws with a ferocity he only showed in a tough battle.

As Castiel was occupied with the first Deathclaw, Dean took the opportunity to toss a grenade past the fight at the compound's entrance. The blast caught two of the Deathclaw's in its radius, taking one of creature's arms clean off, and severely burning the side of the other. Dean steadied his shotgun and opened fire on the quickly advancing beast. Two blows to the torso and the Deathclaw was still charging headlong into the gunfire. One of its giant clawed hands took a strong downward swipe at Dean, and the young raider was just agile enough to raise the shotgun as a meager defense. The gun was totalled and sent skittering across the barren wasteland in two distinct pieces. Dean looked up in horror as the creature poised to strike again, only to have a bullet enter its skull right between the eyes.

Dean spun back around to the caravan to find Crowley reloading a sniper rifle with practiced ease, "Well don't just stand there like an idiot, turn around and kill something LIKE I PAID YOU TO!" Crowley's face lit up in a bright red as he shouted his frustrations out on Dean, and he shouldered the rifle once more, aiming past Dean at another one of the Deathclaws.

A little worse for wear, they managed to kill the onslaught of Deathclaws with minimal wounds. Cas laughed a little, laying his rifle on his shoulder and looking at the other two, "What were you worried about? No problem at all." He noted Crowley was still alive and well, meaning his payment was still intact.

"'No problem at all,' my ass," Dean snarked back, "I lost a perfectly good shotgun and your armor is so torn up you may as well not be wearing any at all!" Dean rubbed at his shoulder absently, a dull pain throbbing from the force of staving off the deathclaw's onslaught, "If we don't get this place cleaned out and packed up before nightfall we're as good as dead."

Castiel snickered, looking down at his armor with some kind of relieved pleasure. He'd avoided being killed by a Deathclaw twice, saved by the quality of armor he wore. Granted it'd be a bitch to replace, but he figured he'd find something worthwhile in the factory. "Okay, let's head inside." Cas walked into the dark building, readying his rifle again.

"After you, love," Crowley gave a mock-bow to Castiel, indicating the lead was all his –and all the dangers that may come with it.

Several Deathclaws and many hours later they finally came across the jackpot they'd been looking for. "Yes!" Cas cried as he walked into the room, lifting his arms triumphantly. "Found it!" he spun around to look at Crowley, "Ok, now what? You want us to carry it all back to the caravan?" He figured he knew the answer, but still it was kind of a pain in the ass.

"That's exactly what I want you to do." Crowley looked around the factory floor, taking a mental inventory of the stock, "It's more than you can carry, but that's what the caravan is for. All you have to do is get it out _to_ the caravan, and we'll be on our merry way."

Cas smirked sarcastically at Crowley before letting it fall again in a displeased expression. "Great…" he muttered, walking toward a rack of power armor, musing that he could use some of it right about now.

Dean let out a low whistle in admiration of the sheer volume of armaments and armor. "You could fit a small army with this," there were at least half a dozen storage containers packed and ready to be shipped –probably an emergency supply in case of communist attack, everything about pre-war life was governed by a paranoid fear of the communists. Inside the containers and across the factory floor were a wide variety of laser and plasma rifles and pistols, and dozens of suits of power-armor and combat armor. "I can't even believe this exists... and untouched."

"No shit, it's untouched! Did you not notice the _freaking __**nest**__ of deathclaws?_" Crowley kept an incredulous stare trained on Dean, "I swear it's a miracle you're still alive. How did you ever survive out in the wastes with an intellect like yours?" Crowley took a deep breath to calm himself before continuing, "And it's a damn good thing you can supply a small army with this because that's exactly what I intend to do with it."

Cas held back his laughter though a short snort escaped him. He lifted his hand with a grin, "The reason he's still alive would be standing right over here." As much as Dean would like to be macho and say he'd done it all on his own, he couldn't deny that Castiel's presence was a big part in his survival.

"Well then let's hurry the fuck up," Dean shouldered his assault rifle and walked over to the first storage unit, "It'll be nightfall soon, and I've already expressed how I feel about that. Cas, give me a hand here." Castiel obliged, going to the other side of the thing. Dean edged his fingers beneath the container, and with Castiel's help, they began the arduous task of packing up the spoils of their near-death adventure.


	12. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Sam!" Gabriel ran up the stairs to his and Sam's corner of the building –Gabriel found that living on a second floor, up in the sky above the ground, was one of the most satisfying feelings after spending your life underground, out of the light of the sun. It worked well for him having come out of the vault and his suspicions about Sam coming from Little Lamplight were spot on, and Sam loved it up there. Or he loved being with Gabriel, Gabriel wasn't entirely sure which. "I've got great news! Jet's coming!" Gabriel was grinning ear to ear, like 'Jet' meant 'Santa' in some other language –or, knowing Gabriel's sweet tooth, it meant 'Easter bunny.'

Sam smiled, glad to see Gabriel so excited but he couldn't help the confused brow furrow that crept over his features, "Uh… that's great pumpkin but who the hell is Jet? You aren't getting into chems are you? Gabe we talked about this, Jet or ultrajet or psycho, you're just fine without it."

Gabriel paused, Sam's nicknames for him always through him for a loop, and he could have sword Sam did it just to push Gabriel offbeat. Gabriel shook off the weird feeling, "What? No, not chems! Jet's like the coolest guy ever! He's been fighting the slavers for close to four years now." Gabriel dropped down on his haunches, leaning in close to Sam and dropping his voice, "And he's got all the slavers scared shitless. They're all talking about it, how they think he's going to attack soon. He'll free the slaves, all of us." A twinkle of excitement shone in the corners of Gabriel's eyes, watching Sam for his reaction.

"Oh my god…" Sam could barely take a breath, quieting down as he leaned closer, "Are you serious? Gabe, we'll be free?" He covered his mouth excitedly; it'd been two years since he'd tasted freedom, or at least able to do whatever he wanted.

"Yeah, we'll be free. But we don't know how long that'll take him, so in that case," Gabriel leaned over to Sam's ear, being especially cautious that no one else over heard, "I have even better news –I found a way out." Gabriel leaned back on his haunches again, his eyes sparkling with mischief and energy. "What do you say, Sam? Escape with me? The others will be picked up by Jet when he gets here, so we don't have to worry about taking them with us. They'll have a great home with the Union –but I just don't want to stay here that long."

Sam blinked incredulously, Gabriel must have overheard the slavers talking about Jet on his way over but Gabriel never intended to be rescued with the rest. "Really?" he looked between the two sparkling honey brown orbs staring at him with his own, thinking, double-checking, unsure. "We have collars, Gabe. If someone else doesn't come to let us go we'll get our heads blown off."

Gabriel let out a sound somewhere between a scoff and simply spitting at the notion of danger, "The collars? I've been practicing, and I'm pretty sure I can get them off without blowing our heads off –I _am_ pretty technological, vault-boy, remember?" Gabriel grinned again, knowing full well how nervous Sam would be hearing that he was 'pretty sure' they wouldn't die.

"Pretty sure isn't good enough, Gabriel!" Sam whispered harshly, his eyes glossy with worry, "These are our lives, we'd go on a 'pretty sure', and possibly blow our heads off, when someone's coming to rescue us?" Sam bit his bottom lip in thought, this was one of those moments he should put his faith in his boyfriend. "Okay, okay," he lifted his hands quickly and waved them, "I'll escape with you. What's your plan on getting out of the pen?"

"That's the spirit! Now come here so I can get your collar off. It's just a matter of deactivating it..." Gabriel leaned Sam over, brushing his hair off the back of his neck to get a better look at the collar, twisting it around on his neck to find the small panel that covered the electrical wiring plate. "Found it, now just hold still –and I mean as still as you can, alright?" Gabriel took out a lockpick and wrenched it between the panel and the collar, popping it off without incident.

Sam's eyes were squeezed shut and he flinched when he felt the pop, "Please don't blow my head off…" he whispered through clenched teeth, trying not to move at all. It was nerve-wracking and heart stopping all at once. He didn't want to know when his head would blow up, or if because he was feigning faith in Gabriel's lock picking skills.

"Whew, so far so good," Gabriel's tongue was poking out of the side of his mouth as he continued to force concentration. Looking over the wires on the panel, he needed to select the power cable –without it, there would be no current to send a message along to the bombs to explode. The key here was knowing that the collars needed a message sent, not the other way around. Most people made the assumption that a slave collar had a constant current that stopped the bombs from exploding, kind of like the pin in a grenade. No current, and then nothing telling the bombs _not_ to blow. It's how most explosive devices worked, which is why many people failed to successfully remove the collar. "Found it!" Gabriel reached the lock pick in again, lifting out the green cable that ran the length of the collar and cut it.

"Alright, your head's still attached, so that went well. I need you to cut mine –I can't see it," Gabriel handed Sam the lockpick.

Sam blinked a few times, looking back at the other teen, "It's off?" His hand rubbed his neck carefully, a small smile coming to him though it quickly faded when he realized what Gabriel had said, "You want me to what? Gabriel I… What if I do something wrong? What if I kill you?" His eyes were wide, fearful and worried.

"It's nothing to be scared of, I believe in you. Here," Gabriel showed Sam the removed collar, "See this? This is where the panel is, you just need to pop it off to get a look at the wires. After that, you need to determine which one is the master cable: it should be a little thicker than the others and it'll have some capillary wires leading off of it to the others. Once you find it, _carefully_ –and I can't stress that enough –work it loose from the nest of wires and lift it out so you can cut it. That'll deactivate the collar and we'll be all set, ok?"

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, finding that his hands were a little shaky. "Ok…" he went behind Gabriel and took a long, unsteady breath. Reaching up slowly he carefully took hold of the collar, scrunching his face as he concentrated on the task. _'Get a hold of yourself Sam! You're a Winchester, and Winchesters don't say 'I can't'.' _He let out a low growl as he popped open the panel and carefully manoeuvred the wires apart. It didn't take him long to figure out which one was the right one, loosening it and readying himself to cut it. Just before he did he thought a quick prayer and severed it.

Gabriel's eyes were gently closed shut –he'd known Sam long enough to know that he was smart, smarter than most. Sam was a quick learner, and these collars weren't that tough. Sam could do it, as long as he believed he could do it. There was no reason to worry... but that didn't meant Gabriel was completely carefree about it. It was still his head.

Nothing happened except the collar coming free. Sam threw his arms into the air with an excited squeal, jumping onto Gabriel and kissing him repeated. "We did it!" He laughed, lowering his voice again.

"Oh thank God," Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief, and couldn't help the laugh that escaped him at Sam's squealing noises. "Ok, ok, I love you too."

Sam straightened himself out and cleared his throat, glancing toward the large fence, "The danger of our heads exploding is gone, but we're still in here. I don't suppose you've considered that?" Sam had personally considered several escape plans before, though always being stumped by the collar problem. It was nice to be able to think it over without that little obstacle. "I suggest we wait until nightfall, at the very least."

"Did you not hear me? I said I already _found_ a way out," Gabriel's eyes were sparkling again, full of excitement at the upcoming events.

"OH!" Sam had apparently missed the part where Gabriel had already figured it out. "Sorry, so what's the plan?"

"We'll wait until nightfall, but there's a hole in the northwest corner of the building, just small enough for the two of us to fit through. I found it just last week –must've been dug by previous children. I want to get you out of here before you get any..." Gabriel looked Sam up and down quickly, "...bigger. In the last two years you've been like a bean stalk, it's crazy."

Sam looked down at himself sheepishly. It wasn't a bad thing; he'd learned that out in the Capital Wasteland, more specifically in Paradise Falls. Growing up was just a thing and in the land they lived in, often a much better thing than being a child. "Well I think you're just jealous I'm bigger than you," Sam smirked.

"Am not! Who'd be jealous of that? I can fit into smaller spaces, and all of my clothes still fit me!" Gabriel huffed humorously, "So tell me what's so good about being tall anyway." Truth be told, he was a little jealous, but when did he tell the truth?

"Well," Sam smiled, "From what I remember reading back in Little Lamplight a few years ago it means I'm a super model, which means I'm attractive." He wasn't sure how that worked but some of the old books had mentioned that sort of thing so he figured that's what being tall was for. Not that he really understood how a super model was useful in any way. "But you're right, we should go as soon as possible, we've gotten the collars off already and it won't take long for people to notice." He ran his hand along his bare neck cautiously.

"Exactly, just as soon as it's dark out and most of the slavers are sleeping, we'll be on our way. Besides, there's a whole lot less surveillance than you might think –these guys are in it for the capture, that's when they get paid. It's Singer that collects on sales, and he'd just as well sleep a full eight hours." Gabriel reached over to Sam and rubbed his neck and shoulder, "And don't be so nervous, everything's going to be just fine, you'll see."

Sam blushed and leaned back into Gabriel's touch. As slaves they weren't allowed to really do anything with one another, the two of them had decided to be boyfriends back when Sam first arrived but the most they'd ever done was hold hands and kiss. They'd be beaten severely for anything beyond that. Or, if the guards had a sick sense of humour about it, they'd say something like 'oh you want that now?' and then let the raping begin. Once they were outside, free, they could do whatever they wanted. Sam was a little excited at the thought.

That night the boys snuck out, creeping as quickly and quietly as they could to the tunnel Gabriel had mentioned earlier that day. Sam couldn't believe what they were doing, that he was getting out and he'd be free. It was amazing, to think that he'd be running around free at this age. Before the supermutant attack, Sam had figured that yes, this was exactly how it would be. He'd go out into the world at 18 years old, he'd wander the wastelands until he found Dean. The difference now was that Dean was gone, Dean was dead and in his place Sam had Gabriel.

The tunnel looked as though it had been carved out in sections, different patches of tunnel had a different consistency of packed earth like each section was completed by a different person at a different time. It wasn't difficult to conclude that the previous children held in this building tried to escape before, innumerable slaves trying for freedom. They'd never know for sure if that's who'd done it, or if any of them had escaped with their lives.

Sometimes Sam wondered which would be better, Dean or Gabriel, but he knew it wasn't fair to compare the two. Instead he wished he could have had them both; one to protect him and the other to love him. He crawled through the tunnel with a bit of effort to drag himself through some of the tighter spaces. He was a lot bigger than he thought originally, not that it was bad, but he hadn't expected to get so tall, even his shoulders were broader than he'd guessed._ 'Nothing like a really cramped tunnel to show you how big you are…'_ He thought grudgingly.

"Come on, seriously?" Gabriel looked back over his shoulder, the action itself rubbing it in that he was smaller and not nearly as cramped, "Don't tell me you're stuck again. I wish we had butter or something..."

"Very funny…" Sam groaned as he popped his shoulders through another tough section, "Just keep moving so you can pull me out if I _do _get stuck." He mumbled unhappily.

Sam hauled himself out and shook his hair free of dirt and debris, looking up at the night's sky with a sudden inspired thought. It looked the same, everything tasted the same, smelled the same and yet… It was entirely different. Tears slipped down his cheeks as a genuine smile came to his lips. "Gabriel…" he whispered, looking at his best friend, "Thank you so much."

Gabriel smiled softly, the moonlight on his face gave him a cherub-like appearance for a fleeting moment, "Don't worry about it, Sammy. I never would've been strong enough to attempt this on my own, so really, I should be thanking you." Gabriel hugged Sam tightly, nuzzling briefly against the taller teen's chest. "Now what do you say we get as far away from here as we can? Southeast of here is a place called Rivet City, I'm sure we'll be safe if we can only make it there. If we can find a travelling merchant, they might be able to give a ride most of the way."

Sam wrapped his arms around Gabriel and rested his head on his boyfriend's with a soft sigh. "I've heard people mention Rivet City before, it's on a boat, right?" Sam stepped back, contemplating it. Rivet City was a settlement made on a large shipping vessel, they had a bridge connecting the city to land which meant they could draw it back whenever something unsavory was lurking on the other side. It was a nice defense against everything that couldn't swim. "Sounds like a good idea, let's get the hell out of here."

Gabriel smiled broadly, full on ear-to-eat grinning, "We'll get going alright, as fast or as slow as we want to because you know what? We're _free_. We can do whatever we want, and they won't be coming after us because they can't afford to thin their defenses." Gabriel looked out on the vast horizon and breathed in a breath of fresh air –well, irradiated air; and started walking, watching Sam truly enjoy himself for the first time in what seemed like a long time.

Sam started running from the only other place he knew outside of Little Lamplight, hoping he'd never see those hideous walls again. It felt good to stretch his legs, to run and feel his freedom, appreciate his freedom. He had to wonder if he had ever really been free. The walls of Little Lamplight holding them back, the position he'd been given as the teacher meant he hardly ever went outside though he knew the layout of the land from looking at maps better than anyone else. It was strange to be out here now, but that didn't matter, he'd get used to it. _'Can you see me Dean?'_ He thought with a smile, glancing up at the clouds above him. _'It'll be okay now, I'm okay.'_


	13. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The trek across the Capital Wasteland was a long one, even with the aid of Crowley's merchant caravan. The factory they'd raided had been far north, beyond the mapped area of the wastes. Deathclaws had roamed the area in droves, packs of greater numbers than are typically seen in the Capital Waste. With Crowley's medical supplies and a bit of luck, the trio had made it in and out of the facility with no casualties to speak of.

"My back is _killing_ me," Dean groaned, stretching out his legs in the caravan beside Crowley. Dean may or may not have pushed himself in hauling out the power armor crates, resulting in a strained back.

"Would you quit your whining? Just be happy I let you ride in here at all!" Crowley snapped back, pulling his legs up and to the left, avoiding direct contact with Dean. "And has anyone ever told you raiders that you need to bathe more often? You smell like a mutant mole rat."

"Yeah? Well at least I don't look like one, pudgy," Dean quipped back. He'd quickly learned that surviving with Crowley required a certain thickness of skin and alertness of mind. When Dean thought about it, it wasn't really that different than dealing with raiders –only Crowley was a lot more conniving. "How much further is it anyway?"

"Are you a child or something? 'Are we there yet?'" Crowley mocked in a whining, almost sing-song fashion. "It's pretty far south east, especially considering how far north we were to begin with-"

"But it's been like three days, we've gotta be close by now."

"Do you wait for _anything_?" Crowley gave an (over)dramatized sigh, "Honestly Cas, how do you put up with this pup?"

"Who're you calling a pup?"

"Would you two quit your belly-aching!" Cas shouted into the caravan, still walking beside the thing. They needed to protect the caravan all the way to Lincoln Memorial, otherwise they wouldn't get paid. "I swear I'm baby-sitting two brats! One stuck up and the other a whiny bitch! Just shut up and enjoy the damn ride back because it can't be much harder than the fucking Deathclaws!" He rolled his shoulders to stretch them a little, cracking his neck as he tossed his head back and forth. "Sheesh."

Silence washed over the caravan while Dean and Crowley simply stared at one another, processing Castiel's added outburst. After a few moments of peaceful quiet, Dean muttered, "You're totally the whiney bitch." Which was promptly followed by an incredulous stare from Crowley.

"At any rate, yes –we're just about there." Crowley pointed casually out the side of the caravan, to a few piles of rotting bodies, "You can see the piles of supermutants? That's Jet's doing. Lincoln Memorial is smack dab in the centre of The Mall region of the wastes, close to several other museums including the Washington Monument, the National Archives, and the Museum of Technology. It's also the second most heavily infested supermutant camp in the Capital Wastes."

Cas glanced and nodded; appreciating the quality work that Jet's people did in piling the bodies. "So he's got plenty of culture around him, bet he doesn't go looking at it either." He snickered, knowing that only real dorks went to look for old history shit like that. "Well at least they can handle the pests."

Dean nodded absently in reply, his mind drifting elsewhere. '_I bet Sam would've loved this_,' Dean looked around at the surrounding buildings, museum after museum, and landmarks of political significance... or now _in_significance. Dean had always known Sam to be overly bookish, and that was saying something when the collective literature of the Capital Waste was only in the high hundreds. Dean looked from the buildings to the rotting corpses that littered the horizon line.

Dean grimaced at the sight, glad he couldn't smell it from the caravan, "What's the first most heavily infested area?"

"Vault 87," Crowley leveled a knowing look at Dean, "the one connected by a back passage to Little Lamplight."

Dean swallowed hard and stopped with the questions. Again with the stupid vault, and all of those poor kids. Dean always knew it was in the town's best interest to leave that stupid vault alone, but Bella would never hear the end of it. She had been convinced that the vault held the answer, all the supplies that they would need and a better living environment. Dean had decked her for it, and hadn't heard a peep about it before he left –but that didn't mean she didn't push the matter after he was gone. If the supermutant outbreak was her doing, what if it could have been avoided? Dean could have warned Sam about Bella's obsession... No, thinking like that wouldn't help anyone: it was all too little, too late.

Cas looked up into the caravan and shook his head, asking questions was a thing that Dean always did and he almost never liked the answer. _'If now was an appropriate time to say I told you so about asking questions…'_ He thought morbidly.

"Here we are, Pismo beach and all the clams you can eat. Now get your smelly ass off my caravan." Crowley gave Dean a feeble kick toward the exit and hopped out the other side himself. "Now I just meet with Jet, get our pay, and I disappear for a while. You two stay here and watch the caravan, I'll be right back." Crowley straightened his pre-war suit and vanished inside the building.

Cas nodded and crossed his arms, watching the building closely before glancing around at the funny looks some of the inhabitants were giving them.

Dean looked around at the people milling about, "There are so many people here, were they all slaves?" Dean turned to look at Cas, as though the other raider would know.

The older raider met Dean's eyes and after a long and thoughtful stare he just shrugged with an 'I dunno' slurred into one word.

"Well if they were," Dean pushed the conversation, starving for anything other than the mind numbing silence and the dredge of thoughts that came with it, "that would explain why they're looking at us funny. To the average person, what's the visible difference between a slaver and a raider?" Dean looked around at the faces of the passersby, "They're probably scared."

"Who's saying they shouldn't be? You're rough around the edges and I'm far from friendly, I'd slit their throats for bumping into me." Cas was using his rough, raider voice as he growled out the words, trying to look tougher than he felt. Truth be told he was exhausted. He'd walked the entire distance back since Dean was in the caravan and he hadn't really slept since before heading out to get the armor in the first place. He stifled a yawn that was brought on by the thought of it.

"No, you wouldn't," Dean looked at Cas, and not even he was sure if that was simply a statement –or a threat. It had been a long time since Dean had seen Castiel in that sort of light: the man was his partner and lover, they shared a home together –and a pet. The last time Dean remembered being afraid of Cas was when he'd first left Little Lamplight and discovering the carnage of Big Town. Dean hadn't known Castiel then, and even now he couldn't imagine the man actually killing a stranger for no good reason. On the other hand, Dean really didn't want to see any bloodshed among the freedom fighters here.

Cas frowned, his face scrunched up distastefully. "You don't know that," he grumbled. He knew full well these ex-slaves were uneasy about his presence to begin with and he wasn't feeling up to the challenge of fighting them all at that moment. He shrugged grumpily, "I would if I wanted."

"I get that you're tired Cas, but that doesn't mean you need to put up your 'tough guy' front, I can see right through it." Dean shifted his weight to lean on his rifle –that reminded him, he really needed to replace that shot gun that he lost to the deathclaws, he liked that gun.

Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was particularly looking at him in that moment, Castiel stuck his tongue out at Dean followed by a light snarl. "Shut up…" Was all he could come back with.

Crowley strolled into Jet's meeting room with a big grin on his face, "Hey there, partner. How goes the planning?"

Jet looked up from his planning table and a smile spread wide on his face, "Crowley, my man." He straightened up and walked over to the businessman with a strange kind of stroll, difficult to pinpoint whether he was confident, hesitant, or just plain happy to see his shipment might finally be in.

"I have the supplies, as promised. A suicidal run up north of mapped territory landed myself and my escorts in Deathclaw country –the heart of which held our destination: an old power armor factory." Crowley loved to over exaggerate the troubles he went through, no matter what. Everything he did for anyone was a huge favor –everytime. "My caravan's out front, filled with laser pistols and rifles, power and combat armor, and not to mention the microfusion and energy cells. All I need is the rest of my payment, and I'll be out of your hair."

Jet didn't feel all that bad about what Crowley had to go through, the man said he would deliver armaments, Jet didn't tell him where to get them. "Of course, here you go." Jet handed the payment over; he'd had it ready and waiting. "Good job."

"Thank you very much –oh, and one more thing," Crowley remembered almost as an afterthought. "The raiders I hired to make the run, they want in on your war against Paradise Falls, something about a goofy brother from Little Lamplight possibly being dead or captured."

Jet's ears burned a little, glancing back at Crowley before the man left, "Raiders want to help?" He glanced out the door then to Crowley again, "You're kidding me?" He peered out the door regardless of the answer to look at the hired help. The first one he recognized, Castiel's name had gotten around enough for Jet to have heard it. "That is one mean raider… What the fuck does he want here?" Jet muttered to himself before walking outside entirely.

"Yeah, I s'pose he's tough. He is still alive, after all," Crowley counted through the caps vaguely –with this many to carry, there was really no way to know for sure if the full amount was there. "I should have you pay me for the raiders too," Crowley joked, well –half joked.

Jet shot the man a look, "You wish." He wasn't even half joking with that.

"Hey," he started casually, arms crossed.

Castiel looked up and scanned the man standing there, tall, well built, a shaggy brown haircut, and… those eyebrows. They were thin but had a sharp shape to them, like he meant business even with a neutral expression. "Hi," Cas offered in return.

Dean looked between Cas and Jet, eager to sign up and ship out. This was the man leading the fight against the slavers, against the sons of bitches who stole his brother, if his brother was still alive. But Sam wouldn't have been the first lamplighter taken to Paradise Falls, not by a longshot. Dean had a bone to pick with them, on principle alone. But Dean knew the drill –Cas did the talking. Cas was _known_, he had a reputation and good business sense. And if Cas didn't have the answers to his questions, he wouldn't be signing up for this, and Dean really didn't want to do it alone.

"So I hear you boys want to join the cause?" Jet smiled a little and stepped down the front steps until he was level with them, though he was taller than them both. He remembered the things he'd heard about Little Lamplight, about the slavers taking whoever was left alive.

"You heard right." Cas was doing the talking for now; he wanted to feel out what kind of person Jet was before doing anything with him.

"You know it isn't a job that I'll pay you for, right?" Jet didn't want to deal with raiders who thought they'd be getting a good payoff out of it.

"We know, we're still waiting for our dear Crowley to give us the rest of the real payment." Cas raised his voice as he spoke, loud enough for Crowley to hear that he still expected the remainder of their share. "We'll have enough money after he gives us what we're owed." He nodded toward Dean, "He's the one who wants to help you."

Crowley didn't skip a beat, strolling down the stairs of the Lincoln Memorial, "500,000 caps left owing, and I've got 'em right here." Crowley tossed the sizeable 'coin purses' at Castiel's feet. "I believe our contract has been fulfilled by all parties involved. Nice dealing with you."

Cas picked up the sacks of caps and handed one over to Dean, "Likewise Crowley. I'll have time to count this later so now's your chance to tell me if you're flaking on us." He smiled to indicate a sense of joking though they both knew full well Castiel would hunt Crowley down and kill him if something wasn't right.

Jet looked at Dean and his expression softened, "I… heard about Little Lamplight. I'm sorry." He offered his hand, "Name's Jet, and you are?"

Dean looked Jet up and down, the man was definitely tall, and built, but there was something akin to compassion in his expression. He was someone fighting for a cause greater than survival, greater than himself; Dean found that he kind of liked him. "My name's Dean Winchester, I left Little Lamplight a little over two years ago –probably the last one." Dean's expression hardened as he dwelled on his reason for being here, Sam –possibly dead, possibly enslaved. "I left my little brother behind, I was supposed to meet him again, go back for him, but..."

"Brother, eh…" Jet scratched the back of his head, not sure how he could break it to this guy. "It doesn't look good for the kid, I gotta tell ya, man." Jet was a little surprised to see an old Little Lamplighter standing before him. Most of those kids ended up dead, especially after Big Town. But often they were too weak to be out in the real world, taken away by supermutants, raiders, or slavers. Well.. This one was taken by raiders, obviously, but somehow he ended up being one of them. And with Castiel of all people, you had to be one tough kid to be able to do that.

"I know that he might not even be there, what with the supermutants and all, but I've gotta know. I used to be the mayor of Little Lamplight, and yeah we're all kids, but we watched out for each other. This isn't the first time those slavers have taken people I care about, and it has to stop. I'll _make it_ stop."

"That's the spirit." Jet smiled a little, a somewhat crooked grin though he meant well. "That's all you can do, my friend. Channel the anger and outrage into something useful, something that'll make a difference. You'll fit right in, Winchester." Jet pat him on the shoulder from a comfortable distance before glancing over at Castiel again, giving a quick nod to the renowned raider.

Cas tipped his jaw a little to return the gesture, though his mind was far from in the game, he was so freaking tired.

"Well you guys can take whatever open room suits your fancy." Jet smiled widely, "This one's mine so you know where to find me."

Cas gave a short wave and started heading into the residential areas, as odd as that sounded to him. "Let's go, Dean." He ordered with a slight yawn, "God I could use a nap…"

"A nap?" Dean quips derisively, "We almost get ourselves killed for a bunch of old technological junk, and now you just want to _sleep_? I won't have it, old man," Dean knew how much it bugged Castiel to hear that. Dean wasn't sure if it was because the age difference between them bothered the raider, or if it was because Castiel genuinely felt it. Dean grabbed Cas by the belt in his armor and started leading the man away. "You're staying up for _at least_ another thirty minutes."

Cas yawned loudly in response, "You little shit, we almost got ourselves killed when fighting giant monsters, _hauled_ every piece of the really heavy old technological junk only so you could sit in the caravan on the way back while **I had to walk**." He let Dean lead him regardless; they were headed to the same place, "Like a whole freaking day of walking after all of that shit! Little wussy baby like you wouldn't get it." He was defensive of his age; people didn't live very long anymore, not like they did before the war. You were lucky to live as long as he had already, even more lucky if you made it to that age with all of your limbs.

Dean pointedly ignored the 'I had to walk' statement. Cas had been fairly reckless at the start of the fighting and Dean figured a good punishment for it was not getting a turn in the caravan.

Cas was complaining but he wouldn't deny that it'd be a decent stress reliever; he'd felt pretty tense since getting to this god-forsaken place. "You asked for it," he snarled, taking a firm hold of Dean's collar and pushing his lover hard against the nearest wall. His hands were rough and his touch far from gentle, he kissed along Dean's neck, nipping at the soft flesh there. They both needed to clean up, sweating and bleeding to the point it was a permanent taste in their skin. Dean moaned and shuddered from the touch, his hands coming up and running through the matted black hair of the man pinning him. He liked how rough Cas could be, enjoyed it to the point that it might not be healthy anymore.

Castiel dug his nails into Dean, his grip a surprising thing for someone so slender and apparently small, his strength had never been something to scoff at, Cas was more than capable of throwing Dean around the room if he deemed it necessary. That didn't mean Dean wasn't just as able to stop him, able to hold him down and cradle him like no one else could. As nice as that sounded, Cas knew he'd never stay awake through it and at risk of insulting Dean completely, he figured taking the rough route was a more fitting decision.

He was tired, God knew he was tired and everyone knows it's nearly impossible to get it up when you're that exhausted. Cas threw both of their clothes to the floor, his mind was a little drowsy but he knew a good trick to get him ready; his hand clenched into a fist full of Dean's hair, forcing his partner to his knees in front of him. "You first," he growled low, his voice rumbling deep in his throat.

Dean listened, lowering to the floor, eyes never leaving the striking blue that held his attention. Cas needed this, he knew it even if the raider refused to admit it, Dean knew. Not to mention that after something as hair raising and life threatening Dean felt like he had to have Castiel, couldn't live without feeling that intensity and closeness at least one more time. He leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the soft flesh, knowing his goal and duty at this point. His tongue stretched out along the underside of it, tasting the bitter salty skin as he dragged his teeth over the top. This drew a short but excited gasp from his partner, Dean could feel the pressure building slowly between his lips and he couldn't help a smile. The larger man bobbed his head faster, nipping harshly at the tip to earn a few more moans and yips in pleasure, he knew his lover's tendencies well enough to know a forceful mood when it started. He also knew it was because Cas was tired, falling asleep in the middle of sex never happened between them and it was unlikely the old raider would be the first to do it.

Cas shuddered, his hand still gripping Dean's hair, his hips bucked forward a few times before he caught himself, his legs trembling weakly. "Okay…" he breathed heavily, gasping through his shaky feelings. "Get up…" he tugged lightly, the slightest hesitation regardless of why earned a harsher pull, "I said up!" He growled, forcing Dean to his feet again.

Cas shoved Dean onto their new bed, pinning him there while he ravished his lover's lips, biting and dragging his teeth along the soft skin. His eyes, lust-blown and hungry, snaked up and down Dean's body until he decided on a spot, snatching his blade up from the floor. He traced Dean's beautiful hip lines with the tip of the blade, a soft hum in his throat as he trailed toward his chosen place, pressing a little harder and drawing blood easily. He always kept sharp weaponry but this blade was the only one of its kind that he really carried, it was for special purposes, after all.

Dean gasped and shook as long and excited shivers danced up his spine; he groaned and hissed when his skin was so easily cut open. He glanced down at the trail of crimson and licked his lips, what kind of masochistic creature had Castiel turned him into? It didn't bother Dean, really. He closed his eyes and smiled, shifting his hips up slowly in a gentle humping motion to keep Cas' interest. "You're amazing." He moaned.

"Shut up." His partner hissed in return, leaving another cut along the thick of Dean's inner thigh. Nothing deep of course, just enough to get some blood flowing. Dean moaned again and let another shudder roll through his body like a wave, the combination of Castiel's varied touch on his dick with the knife was starting to really work its magic.

A little fun with sadistic masochism was all Cas needed to turn Dean on further, to lengthen that heavy, blood-filled cock of his. It'd been a while since Cas had tasted it; he wouldn't dare admit out loud that he wanted to try it again. Though in this situation he didn't really have to say anything. They didn't really have lube and using blood was just unsanitary. Cas knew Dean would enjoy it regardless and so he slipped down, making sure his body's protrusions would drag along the over-sensitive head on Dean's leaking arousal.

Dean grunted and mewled quietly, thrusting up against the smooth body shifting over him. "Cas..." he whimpered vaguely though that earned him a harsh pinch against his new wounds. Castiel didn't take to whining or whimpering well, it was a sign of weakness and the older raider didn't have anything to do with that kind of thing. The word 'weak', if associated with someone, would get them eaten alive in the raider world and as much as Cas cared for him, Dean was pretty sure his partner would let it happen.

Cas licked his lips and took Dean's weight into his mouth after ensuring Dean knew not to whine at him again, moaning softly at the salty taste of it. He was surprised to know he missed the flavour, his tongue stretching and molding along the trembling shaft as he lapped it up to savour. He leaned in further, inhaling Dean's scent deeply. Many people disagree with a man's smell but Cas was a little odd in this way, he didn't like the smell of clean, it wasn't real to him. Anything clean meant it either belonged to someone rich and useless or it was a person and they didn't know life, they didn't know and could never understand him. Another reason why he liked sex with Dean, his boyfriend was almost never clean, though neither was he. There wasn't anything to really clean up with unless they wanted to wash off in irradiated water.

Cas opened his mouth to let as much of Dean in as he could, pausing where his gag reflexes reacted, letting them settle and pushing a little further, his tongue working all the while to coax Dean a little more. His hands were raised, pressed firmly against Dean's thigh to balance himself and the other cupping and supporting the swollen flesh he was currently so enthralled with. Even though it threw him off a little, Cas lifted his balancing hand from Dean's thigh and paused for a moment to transfer some saliva to them. Returning to the blowjob, Cas slowly started to work Dean open with his fingers, prodding and circling with just a little too much pressure, the way Dean liked it.

Dean lurched forward from the sudden addition of his lover's penetrating fingers; he groaned and fell back again, arching against the rough surface below him. "Fuck, Cas..." he hissed and bucked down, forcing the intruding appendages as deep as they could go. "Ah... Ohh..." He bit back the softer, more delicate sounds and tried to replace them with expletives, his hips pulsing forward and his body rocking along with Castiel's rhythm. There was a brief moment he thought he might be too used to the pumping hand forcing its way inside him but it didn't last long, Castiel's mouth working him up further and further until he had to cover his mouth to stifle the outbursts.

Nearing the start of Dean's orgasm Cas quickly drew back until his lips were tightly closed around Dean's head, sucking vigorously. He'd relaxed the muscles around Dean's entrance enough by this time, he figured, it was alright to let his boy come. Dean gasped and bucked harder into Castiel's mouth, crying out louder as he dropped the protective hand that had been catching the sounds. Cas smirked, easily taking the pounding to the back of his throat as he listened to the sharp desperate cries. He felt himself twitch when Dean released, enjoying the sounds he was getting from his lover.

Cas kept the seed in his mouth, letting his tongue soak in the taste for a moment. He spat some onto his hands, swallowing the rest. Clapping his hands together and massaging the moisture between his fingers he took a firm hold of himself, coating it liberally.

Dean looked up lazily, his eyes half open after the bliss of his orgasm. He loved the crude way Castiel did things, the tougher man using bodily fluids as his lubricant, swishing it in his cheeks like mouthwash before spitting half of it out and consuming the other. It had just happened but Dean needed to repeat it to himself to continue basking in the way his partner did things. "Cas..." he murmured, reaching up for a moment though the other man smacked his hand aside.

"You should be ready by now," Cas snarled and forced himself inside, finding it was a little easier than normal, cursing himself mentally for opening Dean a little too much. He tried to counter that by pushing harder, angling himself until he found Dean's prostate.

The yelp of pleasure was all Cas needed to know he was hitting the right spot. He thrust harder, faster; pummeling Dean into the bed with as much strength as he could muster. Cas was breathing heavily, groaning loudly and losing himself in the mixture of Dean's breaths and the slapping sound that echoed when they slammed together. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to feel anything other than the physical sensations but he couldn't help it, his tired mind wandering even in the midst of all of this. The way Dean always looked at him, those endearing gazes just passionate enough without losing the strength behind them... They drove Cas crazy, he didn't understand how Dean could be so caring and loving toward someone so crass and rough around the edges. But yet, here they were. He moaned softly, tried to focus on the sex and keep his high going until he could climax but he couldn't. At least, not until Dean noticed. Dean clenched his muscles around the struggling erection buried deep inside him, shouting and crying out with each thrust that bashed into his sweet spot, blinding him briefly each time.

Cas' breath hitched as he pushed, finding the added friction more than enough to keep him going. After several moments he cried out, his body seizing and shuddering from the weight of his orgasm until he collapsed on top of Dean, gasping deeply. A few seconds to catch his breath before pulling out and dropping again, eye lids feeling much heavier now than they did 30 minutes ago. "Dean…" he sighed softly, his voice damn near unrecognizable it was so gentle; "I love you."

Dean, still panting heavily, wrapped his arms around the sleeping lump on top of him, knowing full well Cas probably couldn't hear him anymore he whispered anyway, "I love you too, Cas."

It took a full two months to get everyone in the Union trained to use power armor and laser weapons. Some of the people who had rallied to the cause were ex-slaves used as mercenaries, as well as some former raiders, even some former slavers. They were trained, and they could fight. They'd all chipped in to help the others prepare for the upcoming battle. It had taken even longer for Jet to get them all organized as a coherent unit.

Dean admired Jet for his leadership abilities, the slaves and people gathered here listened to him and respected him. But even though Jet had been leading them through these tough times before didn't mean that they all got along. Dean had noticed the divisions pretty early on, there were the hardened professionals who were simply too frustrated with the amateurish abilities of the slaves, and there were those who were in it for the fight and not the cause –they were the worst, with no respect for the former slaves, treating them like they were sub-human. They were careful about being to open with their opinion, they knew Jet wouldn't stand for too much of it.

Dean entered Jet's planning room, covered in maps and schematics of all sorts that he only half understood himself. "Hey, Jet?" Dean hedged the intrusion as a question, with the latest tension in the camp the last thing Dean wanted to do was accidentally scare Jet by sneaking up on his –Dean was sure he'd find a bullet in his chest. "How long until we attack? I'm getting kind of restless, just waiting around like this."

Jet looked up, a stressed expression dissolving ever so slightly. "Hey Dean…" he looked back down at the maps and scrunched up his face a little. He knew what Dean wanted, he knew why the two raiders were here and he knew that if they didn't get going soon then Dean would try on his own and ruin everything. Or at least that's what he guessed. "Patience, my friend." Jet muttered, standing up straight and looking over at Dean. "Just give it a little more time, I'm waiting on something." His grin widened at that. "But that aside, how are you doing here? I mean it can't be easy fitting in with everyone, especially with Cas around."

Dean sighed heavily, frustrated with waiting. Part of him figured that between himself and Cas the slavers could all be dead by now. How many of them could there possibly be? The Deathclaws must've been ten times worse than a small camp of slavers. Given the size of the small army Jet had amassed, Dean figured that the Union leader felt otherwise.

"I'm not a patient person," Dean replied, his frustration not at all lessened by Jet's reassurances. "What are you waiting for anyway?"

"I said patience, man. You'll see it soon enough, now answer the damn question." Jet wasn't quite in a mood to try and humour Dean either; tension hadn't exactly avoided Jet in all of this.

"Cas and I are fitting in well enough. This place is a small town already, but it seems the longer someone's enslaved, the worse their arithmetic skills. The shop keeps probably get swindled daily." Dean wasn't about to admit that most of the swindling had been done by himself and Castiel –they were good negotiators, especially Cas. And how could they be blamed for the short-sightedness of a small business owner?

Jet raised an eyebrow though he didn't intend to question the issue, "Well I guess they'll have to handle that one their own, I'm not exactly here to babysit them." Jet meant what he said, he was their leader and he'd protect them but if someone was losing money because they terrible with money. Jet grinned, knowing full well that Dean and Castiel wouldn't be able to resist ripping people off if it were that easy. They hadn't been caught yet, meaning they were good at what they did. Jet figured it was a fair trade for a couple of experts.

"And a few of the freed slaves here are from Little Lamplight, though most of them don't remember me, or if they do, they don't want to talk about it." Dean's brow furrowed slightly, it bothered him that the former lamplighters didn't acknowledge their past –he didn't understand it in the least, "But there's nothing I can do about that. It's not so much the fitting in that's the problem anyway –we're _bored_. The only reason we're here is to take out the slavers, because _**I**_ want to take out the slavers. Cas really couldn't care less. We're not here to fit in, we're here to fight."

Jet's eyebrow remained elevated though his grin had faded to unimpressed. Apparently trying to make conversation with raiders was about as useful as trying to get a mutated dog to act like a normal pet. "Let me put it this way," He leaned forward and clapped the younger man on the back a few times, possibly rougher than he needed to. "You're here, you're with us and you're fighting the same enemy whether you get along with us or not. I know you're bored and I know Cas isn't exactly the 'let's sit around and do nothing' type of guy, but when it comes down to facing off against slavers –on their home turf, I might add- you can't just rush in. You need a plan and as much as you don't want to admit it, you _know_ you'd need back up."

Jet walked back to the planning table and looked down at it solemnly. "You're impatient but more importantly, you're angry. Invincible might be how you'd feel running in there but believe me, once that collar's around your neck that feeling vanishes pretty damn quick. You're still here for a reason, Dean." Jet glanced back at the raider with stern eyes, though they weren't as friendly as before they were far from confrontational. "I think you know that."

Just then one of the Union members walked in, "It's here Jet, ready to go."

"Excellent," Jet laughed, trotting out the door. He strolled down to the center of their little organization and smiled at the rather large cannon-esque machine that was molded to a set of some badass looking wheels. Jet glanced over at Dean with a smirk, "Gotta love techies, they made this out of a few supermutant weapons."

It never ceased to amaze Dean just how bi-polar Jet was –seriously, the guy was damaged. One minute he could be laughing and joking around with you like the two of you were the best of friends, the next thing you know he's in your face, screaming about something –and there's something suspiciously gun-like pressed to your temple. He was no hero, but he'd be remembered as one after he died. No one would remember much of the bad, or better yet: they'd make the bad sound good. Dean supposed that was just the way of history though.

"It's impressive, but spermutants don't have technology," Dean walked down the steps, admiring the cannon. "They carry the larger guns left behind from pre-war because they're big enough to. They're too stupid to make it, but as long as this cannon of yours works, I don't care where you got it from."

Jet rolled his eyes, "Dude, I didn't say the supermutants made it; I said techies made it out of weapons supermutants were carrying." He looked back at the cannon with a smirk, "And you'll be impressed soon enough." Jet motioned some kind of signal to a few people and turned a glance in Paradise Falls' direction as they ran off to get others, "Now we can move out."


	14. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"Un-fucking believable!" Bobby Singer wasn't just angry or seething –he was downright _livid_. So Rufus hadn't been the best slaver ever, so what? But he was a damn good fighter, and that wasn't even the half of it. After the impromptu meeting, Rufus and Chuck had just disappeared, probably to follow through on Rufus' fool idea of striking Jet first. "I know I ain't no leader to these idjits, but how stupid d'ya gotta be?"

"Do you mean stupid by slaver standards, or the average human being?" The slow, hissing of Alastair's southern drawl crept from his lips like a thick, smokey fog crept through the woods. "Because _honestly_, your slavers are none too clever."

"I didn't call you here for your smart-ass remarks," Bobby snapped at his 'guest,' running a frustrated hand through his grey and disheveled beard. "Those idjits just invited anarchy into the whole damn camp! If people ain't thinking they're out fighting the Union, then they're thinkin' that the two of 'em just made a run for it." The lack of organization was clearly one of Singer's key points of dismay –Jet had an _army_, and as far as Bobby's sources could tell him they weren't that well armed, but they were all united behind a single cause. And while that wasn't any good for a long term or permanent set-up, it spelled death for Paradise Falls if they didn't get their act together.

"And who's to say that they didn't?" Again, like the man was endowed with a freaking snake's tongue.

"Look, if you're not going do something _constructive_-" Bobby snapped again.

"You called me here to hire my services, and here I am. I'm not a public speaker, but I have the forces you requested –The Khans are here at your service." Alastair's lips quirked up in what could only be assumed to be a smile, wretched as it was.

"And all the payment you want are the slaves you recapture?" Bobby hedged, evidently still cautious over their agreement –'too good to be true, so it probably is' and all that.

"That's what I said," another wicked smile, "and we're already posted all around your little encampment anyhow. We've come too far to go home empty handed." Alastair's words were strategically neutral, somewhere between a promise and a threat. It possibly meant that they were here to help, it possibly meant that after all that effort of traveling east they'd enslave the slavers if the deal was called off now.

"Right, well let's get ourselves organized and in positions –it won't be long now."

Dean sort of felt like this was one of those "western" stories that Sam had told him about from the sparse collection of books back at Little Lamplight. Where the heroes and their adversaries would meet on a chosen battle ground just as the sun rose –or as the sun was at its highest in the sky. Dean never wondered about the significance of the position of the sun until now. Now, when it didn't matter because it had no impact on the upcoming battle, now, when he couldn't even discuss it with the book worm because he was... Sam was... well, just that: 'was.' Dean grit his teeth and glowered at the horizon line. They would pay, all of them would, for everything they've ever done –or would continue doing if given the chance.

They were close, Jet could see Paradise Falls on the horizon and he felt a strange tingling in his gut. "Okay guys," he murmured, glancing back at the army standing behind him, "This is it, this is what you've been waiting for and what we've come together for. Our justice is right around the corner," he raised his voice as he spoke, eyes fixed forward in a frightening glare. "Stick to the strategy and you'll be fine, don't get too excited." They were close enough to start, everything could come to a close right here, all Jet had to do was rally them further, scream their battle cry and it would begin.

Cas squinted a little, he could see something around Paradise Falls, it seemed they were attempting to organize themselves. There were people posted around the ramshackle walls though it was hard to see if they were ready for them or just sitting there. "Dean," he whispered roughly, nudging his man with an elbow. "Do me a favour, don't get carried away with this, okay?" He glanced up at him with vaguely pleading eyes, "I know it's personal but… If Sam is dead then there's nothing more you can do for him."

Jet raised his gun with a raw shout; his voice carrying further than most had thought it could, demanding they begin the assault.

Dean's vision was clouded, distracted by rage and thoughts of vengeance as he charged into battle at Jet's command.

Cas growled and bolted forward, he didn't know Sam, he didn't care for ex-slaves, but these fuckers had messed with Dean's family, sent Dean spiraling into a rage that Castiel didn't dare disturb, that Cas was scared would consume him. If that wasn't reason enough to fight, Cas didn't know one.

The Union hit hard, their newfound armaments proved useful, definitely worth the money spent. Jet was one of the first to open fire, he wanted to get a clean shot of the wall with that cannon; he needed to open the door for his people. The explosion was phenomenal, debris flying every which way, many people included. The smoke was clearing quickly, slavers charging forward from the break in the wall.

The fight was fierce, Castiel recognized members of the Khans almost immediately. They were a band of brutally vicious, semi-organized raiders originating from Vault 15. He knew them to be strong opponents, favouring melee combat techniques to prove their strength, something the Khans valued highly. What the hell they were doing with a bunch of slavers was beyond him, whoever was running Paradise Falls must have offered a pretty penny for their services.

It occurred to Dean, somewhere in the back of his clouded mind, that there were more people than he had anticipated, probably more than Jet had anticipated. It didn't matter, nothing else mattered but getting Sam back. Adrenaline pumped through his body, rage filled his mind and darkened his heart – everyone one of these people were less than human, they were lower than diseased animals, and they would all die. Dean showed no mercy, his replacement shotgun proving to be super effective for brain splatter at point-blank.

A quick, silent operation was carried out by Longshot, Jet's right hand man. He managed to get into Paradise Falls and disconnect the system that supported the collars' self-destructing tendencies. This way they could continue the fight without blowing apart each and every slave in the vicinity. Longshot then moved on to break open the pens, blasting massive holes in the back part of the wall. Each slave was freed, scrambling out of the place they'd known as shelter for so long. Once the signal was given to Jet about the slaves being out of there he ordered the cannon be focused on the center of the settlement.

Some would argue that if they wanted to take Paradise Falls for themselves destroying it wasn't so wise. However Jet never intended to capture the place and make it their own, his plan was to blow it apart and wipe it from the maps entirely.

The battle couldn't have gone on for more than half a day; Jet had personally taken the lives of many of the higher ups in Paradise Falls, the top slavers. Cas hadn't targeted any of the slaves during his fights; he went straight for the Khans members, knowing full well that they were far more dangerous than any slaver in the mix up.

Dean had quickly found that he'd gone in too deep too quickly. There wasn't another Union fighter in sight, which wasn't to say that there weren't plenty of angry, able-bodied fighters in sight. Surrounded, Dean refused to lower his gun, and he could have sworn he heard someone say 'take him alive' before a blow to his head brought him down.

The dust was clearing, people gathering together and looking back at the mounds of bodies. No slaver made it out alive though from what Cas could see the Khans had made a run for it, something he wouldn't stop cursing himself for allowing. Everyone had mingled into the same area for Jet to take a head count though as he did so Cas could clearly see the only person that mattered was absent.

"Dean?" He called, thinking maybe his boyfriend was being a douche and just not answering him. However after several moments a little panic started to creep into him, "Dean, this isn't funny! Where are you?" He walked a little ways away from the Union members, shouting out over the cloudy mess that used to be Paradise Falls. Still nothing. Cas' hands shook as he looked down at the bodies, sifting through them slowly with his foot. "Dean…?"

Jet looked up sadly, watching Castiel, a renowned raider, a strong man and a damn good fighter, sift through bodies like a child hunting for his favourite toy lost in a messy room. Tossing this way and that, quiet whimpers escaping with every failed attempt to find his lost lover. "Cas,"

Castiel nearly threw every body into a pile in his search, no sign of Dean. "DEAN!" He screamed, not able to stop the trembling anymore and a violent sob burst out of him. "WHERE ARE YOU! DEEEEEEAAAAAANN!"

Jet grabbed Cas' flailing arms and held him down, despite all of his struggling and squirming Cas couldn't break away. "Calm down, Cas."

"NO! Let me go, Jet!" His blue eyes clouded over, a look of distress haunting them. "Dean!"

Jet never imagined he'd watch a raider –_this_ raider- fall apart like that, going from standing strong and confident to a sobbing, hysteric mess frantically scrabbling about in search of something. Jet didn't say another word, instead he just held the raider down until Castiel had lost the will to fight back, slumping against the Union leader's chest and curling into as much of a ball as he could. He wasn't necessarily comforted by Jet's presence but the fact that Jet didn't walk away immediately helped a little.

"Alright," Jet looked up at his Union members, "Some of you get to work with the bodies, the rest see what you can do for what's left of the slaves." He hefted Cas up and carried him over to the cannon, sitting him down against it and running a hand through his matted, black hair. "You sit tight, we'll look for him."

Cas nodded slowly, the tears staining his cheeks should embarrass him, he should be ashamed he shed them at all and yet none of that seemed to matter, not without Dean, not if Dean was dead.

Dean's eyelids fluttered in attempts at opening, failed, and settled shut once again. His ears were ringing, not from the roar of battle, the screams of the fallen, or the willful cries of the comrades left standing as he would have expected. No, his ears rang from the very _lack_ of it. It was silent –too silent. It was a sort of quiet that simply did not naturally exist, even in the deadened wastes of the D.C. ruins.

Dean tried moving his arms, only to find he could barely feel them; the only indicators of their existence being the twisted up feeling in his shoulders and a low throbbing pain from their general vicinity. He groaned at the sensation, adrenaline beginning to kick in and waken his senses. Dean attempted to open his eyes again, curious now as to his whereabouts.

Castiel had tied him up before, usually at Dean's request. The sensation of bondage only fueled the intensity of the injuries inflicted. He was helpless to stop the injuries being delivered to his exposed flesh, powerless to stop the welts from forming on his roughened skin; and the thrill of it all sent him over the edge every goddamn time. Dean's mind began to wander towards these memories, of Castiel, of their home, the sex, the battles- Dean's eyes flew open. He fell in battle, separated from Cas. He'd run in blind and emotional and gotten himself killed.

Or he should have been killed. And for what? Dean had no way of knowing if Sam was really captured by slavers, not truly. He could've died in Little Lamplight with the rest of the slaughtered children. And on the off chance that Sam had been captured by slavers, the stubborn brat probably mouthed off til they shut him up for good. Or he could've been sold by the time Jet's freedom fighters made their move. It was reckless and stupid to run in the way Dean had, and he knew it. Cas would give him no end of heck for it when he saw him again –_if_ he saw him again.

Dean looked around the room now, body rigid with nerves, his mind on the edge –intense, waiting for a fight. Adrenaline had always wreaked havoc on his body. Pain had been Dean's biggest pleasure in sexual contexts, and sex equally as painful. The lines were blurred in his mind, or maybe his brain only had the one receptor. It was detrimental to survival, when you looked at it from a longevity point of view. The confusion was no different with fear and anxiety, with the adrenaline pumping and his flight or fight response in full gear Dean felt the very familiar tightening of his Brahmin hide pants. It certainly detracted from his threatening glare.

"Well well well," Dean's eyes darted to the corner of the room, where he perceived the voice to be coming from. The area wasn't well lit, and it looked like an old pre-war factory or warehouse of some sort, with concrete walls and a high ceiling. Out of the corner, the owner of the venomous voice emerged, pushing a metal cart with one bum wheel. The cart's contents were clearly on display, the various knives and devices nicely lined up along the stained metal surface. "Aren't you the most intimidating whore I've ever seen?"

"Can the crap," Dean croaked, and was that his voice? He hadn't tried to speak yet, or even clear his throat, but there's no way he sounded _that_ hoarse. That statement was meant to be much stronger, to embody the defiance that Dean felt stirring inside his chest. But his neck and throat were sore, and the air in the building felt dry to breathe. Dean wondered how long he'd been here without water.

"Ooo, so scary," Alastair mocked Dean's efforts. "You, my dear boy, are at my disposal. And I do so ever enjoy the..." Alastair trailed off for a moment, taking his leisurely pleasure and leaned in to take a whiff of Dean, "...thought of your exuberance wasting away through my ministrations."

"Yeah fuckin' right!" Dean spat back, again with his gusto drained by his stunned vocal chords. "You just back off," Dean hissed in warning, squirming at the end of his rope. Rope? Yes, he was definitely hanging above the ground, the tips of his toes dangling a few inches above the concrete floor. The realization made his shoulders burn, and it was no wonder he couldn't feel his arms.

"No can do," Alastair sighed, running his hands over Dean's bare chest. "But it does look like you're no stranger to blades. I imagined you to be much more... pure. Be a dear and tell old Alastair your name."

"Not gonna happen," Dean's eyes glared daggers at the man, who removed his hands from Dean's bared skin and was inspecting his many instruments on the dolly. The sight of the sharpened knives sent an exhilarating chill down Dean's spine and a corresponding jump in his trousers. Dean mentally cursed himself –it felt like a full on betrayal, and he hadn't even done anything yet. What would Castiel say if he knew? Would he be angry? Would he laugh?

Alastair smiled, a slow, creeping sort of grin that spread like necrotized flesh across a snake bite. "Oh my, are we going to have some fun." He approached with a serrated blade in hand, dipping it into a container of clear liquid. "You know, my horny little pet, what I've been working on here? What sort of experiments I've subjected people to?"

"I don't have a clue who you are, let alone what you're doing. And I frankly don't give a fuck," Dean's voice was low with arousal and hate, his eyes blown wide while his brows knitted furiously with rage. This was bad, very very bad. Dean didn't remember going down, the whole battle seemed like a black out, and he almost wondered if he was in fact better off dead.

"Tut tut, you may want to be a tad bit more respectful, or this is really going to hurt."

Dean smirked at that, a face full of over confidence, "Just try it."

It put Alastair off kilter for just a moment. Many people thought themselves strong, hardened by their life in the wastes, and would frequently talk back before Alastair began. But those people always held that uncertain glint in their eyes, a scent of fear about them. This young raider was honestly asking for the blade. Alastair shrugged, "Suit yourself."

The first cut was a slow drag across Dean's exposed chest, and Dean's body leapt with excitement. A shuddered sigh escaped his lips and his eyes fell shut. The rise and fall of Dean's chest quickened with his breathing while the sensations resonated in his body. His eyes opened again, irises barely a thin rim of green around his wide pupils. He fixed a glare on Alastair, "So when's the pain comin'?"

"So smug!" Alastair drawled, aiming to match Dean's snarky comments one remark at a time. "You are an interesting boy, I'll give you that." Alastair's eyes roved over Dean's body, strong, rigid, alert, and so _painfully_ aroused. "But you forget that pain was only one part of what I said I'd do to you, and you can't keep this up."

"Death by orgasm, doesn't seem so bad," Dean chided.

"We'll see," there was a dark promise lingering in Alastair's voice.


	15. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Jet had gone out a few times with a team; initially they searched long and hard to find Dean, spent whole days out looking. As time went by he knew he couldn't continue to use all the resources and focus on the task, he had to let the rest of the Union members do their thing. Jet tapped his fingers along his chin thoughtfully, watching his crew tiredly trudge along, getting ready for another trek out into the Capitol wastelands. He shook his head; they'd spent enough time on this.

"Alright, everyone pack up and head out, move back to Lincoln Memorial and keep our base camp running smoothly, Longshot's in charge." He looked at his long standing friend with a nod, several people's concerned murmurs reaching his ears. "I'm not going to leave you, I just need to make due on a promise first." He grinned, a smooth kind of look to him as his eyes searched over every face as they slowly calmed down. "I'll meet you all back there before you know it, I swear it."

The Union raised their arms and cheered for him, their leader and friend who, for all they knew, would end up dead due to a promise he'd made. Jet always did that, make a promise and have to go to incredible lengths to keep it. Not always an easy task when coupled with survival and fighting off the mutated creatures roaming the wastes. Regardless though, they believed in him.

With that Jet walked over to where Castiel had last been seen, the steel-eyed raider in a fouler mood than he'd ever been in. "So, just you and me tough guy." Jet said as he marched up beside the shorter man, his arms shifting to cross over his chest as he rested his weight mostly on one leg. They both stared out in the direction they figured the Khans would have gone. "Maps suggest a few areas around here that they might be hiding out in, wanna get walking?"

Castiel adjusted the Chinese Assault Rifle on his shoulder and nodded, no words needed to be said to agree and get walking. And as true as that was it still bothered Jet to see someone this way. Sure, Castiel's reputation could get ahead of him as one of the cruellest raiders around, toughest, meanest and deadliest son of a bitch to run into in the wasteland they called home. But that didn't mean he couldn't be hurt by losing a comrade. From what Jet had seen the two of them were close, very close. Something must be eating the blue-eyed man alive, Jet figured, though he knew better than to pester a raider as nasty as Cas. As tough as Jet was he didn't want to go toe-to-toe with that kind of individual.

"Haven't you checked this area already?" Cas muttered darkly, glancing at a map to where Jet had indicated. "It's been a few days, there's no way they're still this close."

"Then we _keep_ walking until someone tells us what they know about the Khans." Jet replied just as roughly, neither of them being men of particular patience. "We're not going to have a magical indicator telling us what the next quest point is or anything."

Cas snarled and snapped a vicious gaze the Union leader's way. "Patronize me again and I'll-"

"Don't threaten me, buddy." Jet pointed a finger at his less than pleasant travel partner, "I promised Dean and we'll get you Dean. Just be patient."

"The longer this takes the more likely it is that he's dead." Castiel's tone betrayed his furious expression, pain and fear caught in the torrent of his ragged voice to the point that it was too obvious to be comfortable.

"You really got attached to him," Jet mused cautiously, "That's not really like you."

"Fuck you; you have no idea what I'm like." Cas snapped, ripping his gaze away from the ex-slave like it'd burned him. _'He's all I've got...'_ He thought miserably, trying to ease the wretched pains in his chest.

"Well regardless of how ungrateful you are for my help, I'm gonna do it anyway." Jet turned to face ahead, adjusting his gun as he spotted a few vicious dogs on the horizon, "Dean joined the Union, he fought alongside me and my men and I don't let my people get taken."

Cas was quiet for a moment, his mind trailing back to when Dean had vanished, when he'd last seen the man and then after the battle when he didn't know where Dean had gone. They didn't know what to do; it could have been anyone that had taken him. However, luckily, someone recalled seeing Dean surrounded by the members of the Khans, but that was it. As vague as it was, that bit of info was still their only lead as to where Dean had gone, they had to take it. And Jet was the one who led the first outings while Castiel was left to calm down and settle his mind back at the camp. Jet hunted down and found every lead as to where the Khans would have or could have gone, he's the one who narrowed down their search from the entire wasteland to just a few spots to the east. Cas was aware, well aware that he owed this man something. "Thank you." He said after the loud shot of Jet's rifle went off, taking down the pouncing dogs easily.

"You're welcome." Jet offered a smile, "Now let's hurry the pace, moping around won't help us anything."

"Right."

"_In four years, on my birthday, you'll come back for me."_

"_You bet I will, I'll be right outside that cave waiting for you."_

_A light kiss on the lips and a quick tap to the tip of the nose with two fingers. "I'll wait outside Little Lamplight for you for a day and a night, if you don't show up I'll assume the worst and move on to Big Town."_

"_Nothing's going to happen to me." A short hug and quick steps backward. "I promise I'll be there."_

Sam opened his eyes, his cheeks tickled by the trails of tears dripping down, soaking into his hair. His heart felt heavy and everything in his chest ached as he took a slow and shaky breath, "I'll see you later." He whispered to the night air, remembering the last few words he'd ever said to his brother. His bottom lip quivered as he tried to fight back the sobs, not wanting to wake Gabriel. "I love you, Dean." Sam muttered and rolled over, noticing that dawn was slowly creeping up on them. They should be moving soon, he decided and sat up instead. He couldn't go back to sleep, not with that memory in his mind.

Dean was gone, destroyed and massacred with the rest of Big Town, gone forever and there was nothing he could do about it. Not a damn thing. It was just him and Gabriel now, roaming the wastelands, heading for god knew what. He was free, which was an amazing feeling, and he had his boyfriend of a few years, what more could he ask for? What else was there to this? He could live his life now, yes, granted he was still saddened when the memories of his brother and their promise came to mind but really? It'd been a while and he really couldn't say much of anything about it anymore. It was sad but he had to move on. Dean wouldn't want him to sit and think on it for the rest of his life.

"Gabriel," Sam nudged his sleepy partner gently, "Hey, come on, we should get moving, we've been wandering in this direction for a while and I think we're bound to come across some kind of civilization."

"Uhhh..." Gabriel grunted, swatting absently in Sam's direction with his good arm. "I dun wanna..." he whined again, peeking an eye open in Sam's direction to see if his charade could get him another ten minutes. Judging by Sam's skeptic expression, Gabriel sincerely doubted it. "Alright, alright," Gabriel muttered sleepily, yawning and stretching his arms above his head. He shot Sam a quick smile, "Don't look so glum, walking's good for you."

It had been a few years of solo travels, just the two of them in the wastes. They'd long since passed through Megaton, finding no room to board in. The mayor, one Sherriff Lucas Simms, was only somewhat remorseful in sending them on their way, having sadly informed them that there wasn't any room anywhere for wayward travellers. Gabriel had remembered wondering if that is what had Sam so anxious, that people in the wastes were cruel and self interested. However, it didn't seem that that was the case at all, which only left Gabriel wondering just what in the world it was that had Sam so bitter lately.

"C'mon, I'm pretty sure we have some iguana bits left for breakfast. We'll get going after we eat something."

Once they were up and moving again it only took two hours of walking to see something more man-made in the distance. Sam's eyes lit up, he knew that he shouldn't be excited but he was. They had come across something in the awful expanse of the wastes, finally. They had come across something before but it was always abandoned or crawling with some kind of hideous thing. The two usually avoided the place once they spotted any kind of mutated creature. One ruined house across their zigzagging path had been abandoned, containing several supplies they needed. They'd gathered what they could for weaponry though it wasn't much in the ways of effectiveness. It had been exhausting and retardedly difficult to even get this far, Sam figured they ended up nearly due west of Paradise falls, if the location of the sun during the day was any indication. Though at the same time they'd gone in so many circles running from monsters and other things like them that he couldn't be sure exactly _where_ they were.

From what he remembered of maps and things from Little Lamplight, Sam knew that there was some kind of an establishment in the area, though he had no recollection of what it was. In fact, he figured that would almost definitely not be what the old map had suggested; it had been dated before the fallout and was probably completely off its mark. But the image on the horizon told him that something still stood there. As much as he didn't want to he had his hopes up, praying for the best.

The two approached a ruined two story building that had the signs of previous life inhabiting it. There were awful but recent smells of rotting food, footprints in the softer dirt though faint still present. He could only imagine what kinds of things they'd find inside, some clues as to who lived here. Sam felt a little excited, thinking perhaps if someone had been here within the last few weeks then possibly someone was coming back. He hurried toward it, "Come on, we can at least hide out here for a little while." Sam called back to Gabriel, "Maybe someone's coming back."

"Sam..." Gabriel lifted a hand in futility. The shorter male sighed audibly, and quickly took up a jog to catch up.

It never dawned on the old Lamplighter that just about anyone could have been living here, including slavers and raiders. He just barely managed to avoid a shotgun blast, the bullet crashing into the ground behind him, kicking up dirt onto his back. Sam nearly dove into the ground but he knew better. He spun on his heel to see two raiders running up toward them, one with the shotgun and the other with a knife and wicked smile.

"Shit," Gabriel muttered, and quickly took shelter to the side of the doorway without entering. "Fuck, I didn't see any of the signs... no bodies hung up on hooks, no sand-bagged barricades. These guys must've set up camp recently." Gabriel poked his head in the door, "Sam! There's probably only the two of them! They're scouting!"

Gabriel wasn't wrong, scouting teams were usually only done in groups of two at most, of course that didn't mean the rest of their group wasn't that far off. Sam lifted the nail bat he'd picked up at the last pile of ruins he and Gabriel had come across, swinging it violently toward the charger, connecting the first hit easily to the guy's skull. It was a lucky hit, to be sure. Sam had never attacked anyone in his entire life but here he was beating a man's skull in. It was terrifying; he could hardly breathe or think as he swung again and again, his heartbeat racing in a mix of adrenaline and pure animalistic instinct. Raiders were the people who attacked Big Town; raiders were the bastards who had killed his brother. Sam only saw red as he continued the assault, hearing something in the background but not much of it.

The second raider with the gun saw the vicious display before him and proved just how cowardly he was by running away, or, at least he tried to. A loud shot from a rifle sounded and the second raider's head exploded at the same time a round of machinegun fire riddled his body with holes.

"What the actual fuck!" Gabriel squeaked, covering his head in a feeble defense. He'd been sure there'd only be two of them –and there probably only were, unless there was some raider civil war going on. Not like Gabe and Sam would have a friggin' clue. "Who did that? Sam?" Gabriel called back, hoping his partner was ok.

Sam snapped out of his rage induced insanity and cranked his head around to see who had just aided them. "I have no idea!" He called back, staring at the new comers. At first he was slightly relieved to see a regularly dressed man, shaggy brown hair and some armoured clothing, wielding a mini-machine gun. However his relief faded when he saw a third raider standing slightly behind this man, were they both raiders? Why would they attack their own kind? Sam had no idea but he lifted his hands in surrender when he saw the guns aimed his way, a hideous pit curling in his stomach, burning at him. If he were to go down he should go down fighting these fucking raiders, for Dean's sake, shouldn't he?

Gabriel ran inside the building, he'd be damned if he let whoever these guys were take Sam alone. They were in this together. Gabriel stopped at Sam's side, "Hey, you ok?" he inquired, not so much caring about the other two present. If they wanted Sam dead, they'd have shot him by now.

"Yeah, I think so." Sam murmured softly, feeling a little breathless, either it was thanks to the adrenaline rushing through him or he was out of shape. Regardless he didn't like it.

"Hey," The obviously dressed raider spoke in a rough tone, shifting a pair of goggles from his eyes and into his black hair, his assault rifle hardly even shifting in his grip. "You kids seen the Khans around here?"

"The what?" Sam asked immediately, his arms dropping and head tilting slightly in his confusion. "We uh... We don't know what those are."

"Yeah!" Gabriel piped in, "we've never heard of a 'Khan,' so just leave us alone!" He could feel his hands shaking, and moved to grip onto Sam.

The man with the machine gun lowered it for a moment before returning it to his back with the rest of his supplies. "You kids know where you are?" He asked curiously, motioning toward the building behind them.

Sam glanced at Gabriel nervously, trying hard to remember what this place could possibly be though nothing came to mind. "I... I don't, no."

"The Temple of the Union," the man smiled a little, "A safe haven for escaped slaves, would you two happen to fit that description?"

"Oh my god..." Gabriel's jaw could've damn well unhinged itself. The Temple of the Union! This must be Jet! _'Holy fuck, I knew it! I knew it!'_ Gabriel kept his mouth shut as the others explained.

Sam visibly relaxed, a sigh of relief felt good after all of the stress he'd gathered during the long struggling trek he and Gabriel had put themselves through. Several weeks of meandering about and yet still they hadn't made it very far at all. Damn monsters and triple damn their cowardice for deciding to run instead. Yet he couldn't expect them to fight those things, mirelurks were scary, deathclaws were even worse. Luckily they hadn't come across much of either. "So... this is a safe place?"

"Well it was, the new temple is being set up in Lincoln Memorial," The man explained, reaching over to his ally and swatting at his rifle, "Gun down, Cas. They're escaped slaves."

Cas grunted indignantly and cooperated, "From where?"

"Paradise falls," Sam tried to sound strong as he said it though he was starting to feel a little tired; he approached Gabriel and took his hand firmly. "We escaped together."

"When?" Cas sounded sceptical, his eyes narrowing. "A few weeks ago we attacked Paradise falls and freed all the slaves, when did you two get out?"

Sam stared for a moment, surprised and a bit relieved to know the others were free. Gabriel had mentioned it before they escaped first, that a man named Jet was coming and he'd free them all. It was the start of their conversation a few years ago, right before they decided to run for it early. "Jet already freed the slaves?" He asked in astonishment, "I thought it'd take a lot longer."

"Yeah, I did free them already," The brown-haired man smirked, "And I'm surprised to know the slaves knew I was coming."

Sam looked between the two men for a moment, "Wait, so you're Jet?"

"One and only, kiddo." Jet motioned toward Cas, "And this is my raider friend, Castiel."

Sam remembered hearing some slavers mentioning raiders before, some of the meanest ones they'd ever tangoed with and the ones that killed nearly every enemy they came across. He vaguely remembered hearing Castiel's name in the mix. "Hi," he waved sheepishly and pat his boyfriend's shoulder, "This is my partner Gabriel, and my name's Sam."

Castiel's face went white for a moment, "Sam? Did you come from Little Lamplight?"

That threw the younger man for a loop, his heart catching in his throat. How did this raider know that? "Were you... one of the raiders in Big Town? Did you talk to my brother?" It was the only explanation for it, a ruthless cut-throat monster like the raider standing before him knew his name. Raiders had taken down Big Town and there was no doubt in Sam's mind that Dean would have pleaded for his life, saying he'd promised his little brother he'd wait for him. "Do you know Dean?" Sam's voice shook a little, anger and violence rising in him as his blood boiled.

Cas nodded then, his gruff voice irritating the smaller male. "I was in Big Town, that's where I met Dean." He said this simply as if it were nothing.

Sam gripped the bat tightly as he walked closer, letting go of Gabriel's hand as he moved stiffly, every muscle in his body flexed and ready. "You monster..." he hissed, his face a darkening expression of hatred, "You killed my brother!" He shouted in a mad swing, the nail bat aimed right for Cas' head.

The raider blocked with his rifle and cracked the metal into Sam's gut, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to the ground.

"Sam!" Gabriel cried out, making a move forward, only to be gently stopped by Jet.

"I did no such thing, you ignorant little wretch." Castiel snarled, dropping down to Sam's level and fisting a hand in the boy's hair, lifting his face to his own, ignoring the tears of pain. "I'm the man who saved his life," Cas spat angrily, the volume of his voice rising as he spoke, "I'm the man who took him in, strengthened him in every way possible, and I'm the man who will do it again. Your brother is alive, Sam. He was in Paradise falls looking for you, for fuck's sake! I was helping him and in the big stupid fight he was captured and I have no idea where. So unless you can help me find him, shut your damn mouth and wait to try and kill me for later."

"Cas, drop him." Jet ordered, his hand firmly gripping the enraged raider's arm, "He's just a kid and he was enslaved, he couldn't possibly know all of that."

"Well he should learn not to fuck with people stronger than him." Cas growled, letting go of Dean's younger brother. By all means he should be trying to protect this kid, to get Sam back to his brother safely. After all, Dean never would have been in that fight, that none-of-their-business goddamn fight, if he hadn't been thinking solely about Sam. And at the same time, Castiel was never one to give a shit about the weaklings, the idiots, or the ones who clearly had no survival instincts. Currently Sam fell into the category of 'I don't care', all he wanted was to find Dean. Whether this kid was alive or not it didn't matter.

Gabriel rushed over to Sam's side, "Hey, are you ok?" Gabriel could tell Sam's mind wasn't even concerned with his own well being. He was single-mindedly focused on Dean. Gabriel wondered if Sam would even notice if he walked out the door on his hands.

Jet rolled his eyes and reached down to help Sam up, the boy's eyes even wider in complete shock now. "Dean's... Dean's okay?" Sam hadn't even really heard Gabriel's question, he was stuck on Dean.

"He's not okay!" Cas shouted, "He. Is not. Okay! What the fuck did I just say? He's been taken by some of the cruellest men in the Capital wastelands and I _can't find him._"

"Calm down, Cas." Jet snapped, "We're looking and we're close, I can feel it. Now come on, the last group we ran into said something about the Canterbury Commons."

"Yeah I know," Cas inhaled slowly and started walking, "Come on, Sam. Your brother's waiting."

Sam knew he should discuss this with Gabriel, he knew he should question all of this, but he couldn't ignore what had been said. Dean was alive! His big brother was alive and in trouble, Sam couldn't ignore it. "Coming Gabe?" He looked at his boyfriend hopefully.

"Ah _duh_," Gabriel responded with an over exaggerated roll of his eyes. "What kind of super awesome friend would I be if I didn't go with you? Besides, meanies like that might be hogging all the sweet rolls, so it'd be no wonder no one else out here has 'em."

Sam smiled, "Only a super awesome 'friend'?" He asked playfully, raising his eyebrows a little. He knew boyfriend was the right term but saying it in front of the two toughest people they'd ever met might not be such a great idea either. "I know what you mean."

Cas rolled his eyes and looked at Jet as they continued their pace southeast, "What exactly did they say to you? I'm not sure if you remember but that old fart hates raiders and I had to stand about fifty thousand miles back." His annoyed voice somehow made the other man smirk. They'd come across an old timer about two minutes before running into the mess with Sam, Gabriel and the two raiders. The man had explained what he knew about the Khans' recent activity, he'd come from the small town of Canterbury Commons and had seen a thing or two.

"He said that a group of ruffians had been seen on the outskirts of the town, my guess is some kind of underground set up." Jet told him casually, his mind working through the possible kinks. "We're going to march in there with two unarmed escaped slaves, kids. We have to leave them in the town while we do this."

"Can't." Castiel muttered stiffly, glancing back at the boys following quickly, "Sam, if anything like his brother, won't allow it. We'll have to give them some guns; I have a few extras, what about you?"

"I could give them something." Jet nodded, "But if we get his kid brother killed in the middle of all this, it's your ass, not mine."

"Fine."


End file.
